


Ignis

by PeppDream (Pep_Pizza)



Series: Paramnesia [2]
Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Dreamwastaken, Four Muffinteers, GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, dreamnotfound - Fandom, gream
Genre: A Lot of Death, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Character Death, Contracts, Death, Deja Vu, Demons, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic, Protectiveness, Sexual Tension, Suicide, Time Loop, Time Travel, mostly angst tho, opposite of a slow-burn, some blood but not too bad I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pep_Pizza/pseuds/PeppDream
Summary: D̶r̶e̶a̶m̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶.̶ ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶s̶t̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶w̶ ̶G̶e̶o̶r̶g̶e̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶s̶t̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶u̶c̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶f̶l̶u̶s̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶s̶k̶i̶n̶,̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶n̶e̶c̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ ̶l̶i̶p̶s̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶d̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶g̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶g̶e̶t̶h̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶h̶e̶'̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶e̶n̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶.̶ ̶B̶u̶t̶,̶ ̶D̶r̶e̶a̶m̶'̶s̶ ̶r̶e̶l̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶p̶s̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶v̶e̶r̶y̶ ̶l̶o̶n̶g̶.̶ ̶ ̶A̶n̶d̶ ̶u̶n̶f̶o̶r̶t̶u̶n̶a̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶D̶r̶e̶a̶m̶,̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶G̶e̶o̶r̶g̶e̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶e̶i̶t̶h̶e̶r̶.̶Every single time, Dream will end up at this stupid party. Every single loop, George will walk in and their eyes would lock. Every single repetition, Dream will fall a little more in love.But no matter how many times Dream comes back here, he can never seem to save George.Or,Florida man fucks with time for some british dude he fell head-over-heels for.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), dreamnotfound - Relationship
Series: Paramnesia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119716
Comments: 346
Kudos: 359





	1. R̶o̶x̶a̶n̶n̶e̶

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Pt.2 of Paramnesia!! I'd recommend reading Pt.1 first if you haven't already, but since I don't think there's any particular detriment to reading these out of order (until a certain chap, but I'll warn you when we get there), for now, you can just do you :)
> 
> (also ty KittsDarkNight, I'm stealing your words for the summary pshhh)
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter! Some crazy stuff is about to go down~ ^_^

Dream’s eyes had been drawn to him the moment he entered the party.

Soft eyes and shy smile, a pair of dorky white-rimmed sunglasses perched on his perfect forehead, nestled between strands of inky-brown hair. Dream didn’t even try to hide his gaze, watching intently as the boy slowly raked his gaze past the party’s attendants until their eyes met. The reaction was instantaneous: his cheeks were dusted pink and, mouth slightly parted, he had quickly averted his eyes, looking embarrassed. Dream, pleased by the reaction, leans back against a wall and innocently sips from his red cup.

The guy looks a little out of place in this type of crowd, his long-sleeved sweatshirt a stark contrast to all the half-naked bodies around him. Dream watches in bemusement as Sapnap tugs him through the crowd, his friend’s eyes lighting up upon seeing Dream.

“Yo Dream, there you are!”

“Hey Sapnap,” Dream greets, giving a half-wave. “This the friend you said you were bringing?”

“The one and only,” Sapnap snickers, shoving the flustered boy forwards. “Dream, meet George. George, say hi to Dream.”

“H-hi,” George obediently stumbles, his eyes large and fascinated as they dart around Dream’s features.

“You like what you see?” Dream teases, and pride glows in his chest when he sees how quickly George’s face blossoms pink. 

“U-Uhm…?” George stutters, looking almost guilty, but Dream just laughs good-naturedly.

“I’m just messing with you,” Dream grins, offering a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Sapnap's friend.”

“Oh, uh,” George accepts the handshake. His fingers are long and slender, a tiny fit in Dream’s much larger one. He has perfect nails — nice looking ones. “Nice to meet you too.”

“I’ll leave you two to get to know each other. Can you point me to the drinks?” Dream jabs a thumb behind him and Sapnap nods, already flying to the kitchen. “Thanks, Dream!”

“So,” Dream starts, swirling the alcohol inside his cup.

“So,” George echoes awkwardly back, and Dream smiles.

“You’re a computer science major, huh?”

“Oh. Yeah,” George confirms, nodding his head. He seems to be very pointedly refusing to look at Dream’s face, which Dream finds endearing as fuck. “How’d you know?”

“Sapnap told me,” Dream answers, secretly fascinated with the rapid rate in which George’s ears were turning red. 

“O-oh. Right.”

“To be fair, he didn’t tell me it was _you_ directly. Just that he had a friend majoring in it. I only connected the dots,” Dream explains, shrugging. 

“Ah,” George replies, eyes pointed towards his awkwardly shuffling feet. “Right. Um, that’s me, yep. The nerdy guy that likes lame computer stuff, haha.”

Dream raises his eyebrows. “Lame?” he echoes.

“Um,” George slightly raises his head. “Yeah?”

“Dude,” Dream gives a soft wheeze, “ _Smart_ people take computer science, George. It’s not lame. Far from it.”

George blinks up at Dream, appearing mildly surprised. “I… oh.”

“Do people not normally tell you that?” Dream huffs, draining the rest of his cup. “You look surprised.”

“Um, well, Sapnap says that too,” George mumbles, fiddling with his hoodie strings. _Cute_ , Dream thinks. “But I always thought he was just being nice.”

“ _Nice?_ ” Dream mock coughs, laughing through his sputter, “Are we talking about the same Sapnap here?”

George giggles with him. “Alright, fair point.”

Dream shifts a little closer so that their arms are touching. George doesn’t move away. “Hey.”

“Wh-what?” George stammers, but his accent makes it come out sounding more like a “whut.” Dream is hopelessly enamored.

“Do you—”

“So, how’ve my best pals been getting along?!” Sapnap interrupts them, popping out literally from nowhere, slinging his arms across both of their shoulders. His movements are already sluggish, but his form is brimming with energy.

Dream chuckles. “Sap, are you drunk already?”

“...no.”

George gives an exasperated sigh. “You only left for like, five minutes, and you’re already going crazy.”

“I am _not_ ,” Sapnap refutes, very non-believably. “ _You’re_ the one that needs to loosen up, George. C’mon!” And with a yelp, George is promptly dragged away to the kitchen. Dream only laughs but doesn’t follow, heading away to the dance floor. He’s pretty sure he’ll be seeing them later.

Sure enough, not even an hour later, Sapnap is doing cartwheels around the living room and riling up quite a crowd for himself. George, on the other hand, is half-knocked out on a couch — a total lightweight. The sight is too funny not to interfere, so Dream makes a direct beeline over.

“Not gonna join your friend?” Dream jokes, poking the side of George’s face, and he only groans, fluttering his eyelids. Dream thinks his heart flutters a little too.

“I hate parties,” is what he mumbles instead, and Dream gives a gentle wheeze.

“The alcohol not doing it for you?”

“No,” George admits, shutting his eyes tightly closed. His words are slurring a bit. “No, ‘s not.”

Dream hums in response. “Then why’d you drink so much?”

George drapes his arm over his eyes, looking embarrassed. “...thought it was orange juice.”

Dream cackles at the answer. George doesn’t look amused. “Anything I can do to make it better?” Dream asks. _Like maybe kiss you?_

“Get me a glass of water?”

Huh. Not quite what Dream had in mind, but. “Alright,” he relents. “Water coming right up, prince charming.”

Dream has to push past a few too many horny guests before he can finally get his hands on a glass. By the time he’s returned with the water, George is already fast asleep. And Dream _may_ have stared a second too long, stuck admiring his pretty eyelashes and parted, pink lips.

“Are you checking him out or…?”

Dream rolls his eyes. “Just worried, is all. This is his first time at a party, right? Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on him?”

Sapnap just smirks. “But I think you’re doing a pretty good job at that for me.”

Dream elbows his friend in the side. “Shut up.” A pause. “Do you know how George’s planning on getting back to his place?”

Sapnap smugly wiggles his eyebrows at the question, and it isn’t until Dream gently smacks him that he answers. “Uh, we and a couple others are gonna hitch a ride back with a sober friend. We’re planning on staying here a bit longer though.”

Dream sighs. “He’s totally clocked out, Sap. I don’t think he should stay here any longer — I’ll take him home.”

“Oh.” Sapnap blinks slowly, like he’s processing Dream suggestion. “You sure? You don’t have to, I was just kidding about you looking out for him.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna crash for today too, so I might as well.”

Sapnap narrows his eyes. “Didn’t I see you drinking today?”

“It wasn’t a lot. Just a cup.”

“...okay,” a shrug, and Sapnap’s pulling out his phone. ”If you’re sure. I’ll text you his address.”

And that’s how Dream ended up lugging George all the way to his car and back to his apartment. The ride is silent, save for George’s quiet breathing. After parking the vehicle, Dream shakes him awake.

“Huh…?” George blinks, looking drowsy. His sleepy-face makes Dream’s insides flutter with adoration. 

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

George rubs his eyes. “Where are we?”

“Back at your apartment complex,” Dream answers. “You’re gonna need to unlock your own door, though.”

George’s eyes widen. “Did you... drive me back?”

“Yeah.”

“Does Sapnap…?”

“He knows,” Dream confirms. “Don’t worry.”

Dream helps George out of the car and walks him up to the door. “...thanks,” George mumbles, though it’s barely discernible. His cheeks are still pink, but Dream isn’t sure whether it’s from being drunk or from the biting cold.

“No problem,” Dream replies, “Just go easy on the alcohol next time.”

George doesn’t enter his apartment straight away. “...the water.”

“What?”

“The water,” George repeats. “You never gave it to me.”

“Oh my god,” Dream sputters in disbelief before launching into laughter. “You’re bringing this up now?!”

“The water,” George repeats, sounding so oddly serious that Dream only laughs harder.

“Maybe next time,” Dream compromises, heart squeezing with fondness. “Next time we see each other, I’ll get you that water, okay?”

“You… you promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” Dream chuckles. “Now get inside before you catch a cold, you idiot.”

* * *

“Thought you didn’t like parties?”

“I don’t,” George confirms, meekly sipping from a red cup. Thankfully, he appears to be keeping control over how much he’s consuming this time.

“Then what brings you here again? I don’t see Sapnap anywhere.”

George obviously came on his own. He’s wearing the same thing as last time, still sticking out like a sore thumb among these delinquents and drunksters. Loud music is blaring in the background and Dream doesn’t recognize it, but it makes the energy under his skin hum. He doesn’t think he can hold himself back much longer, not when George is standing _this_ close to him.

George visibly swallows. “My water,” he answers.

Dream gives a disbelieving smile. “You’re joking.”

“If I don’t see you again, how am I supposed to get my water?”

“You are so dumb,” Dream wheezes. “You don’t have to meet me only at _parties_ , we could’ve met somewhere outside of these situations.”

“But,” George pouts and Dream thinks his heart melts a little, “I don’t have your number.”

 _Hm._ “Sapnap does though?”

“I don’t wanna ask him,” George replies petulantly, and Dream realizes George hasn’t looked his way even once. He was starting to miss the sight of those cocoa eyes.

“Why?”

“I just… don’t.” 

A beat of silence, where Dream considers whether or not he should bring it up. “Hey,” he starts, softens his voice. “Why won’t you look at me?”

At the prompt, George looks. But almost immediately, a flustered expression falls over his expression. “I— um.” He nervously bites his lip. Dream wants to bite it too. “I dunno?”

Dream innocently tilts his head. “Come on, no need to be shy. Is it something on my face?” Dream uses his free hand to wipe across his mouth to fully play into the act. “That’s it, right?”

“N-no!” George adamantly denies, shaking his head. “Er, you’re just, uh…” he mutters the rest of his sentence.

“Hm? Sorry, what was that?”

“...very handsome,” George repeats, his face the color of a bright tomato, and Dream beams.

“Thank you,” he grins, and feeling weirdly brave, he uses a finger to tilt George’s chin upwards. “You’re quite pretty yourself.”

George’s jaw drops open, eyes blinking in shock. “Dream,” he starts.

“Hm?” Dream murmurs, eyes hungrily tracing George’s jawline. They’re so close to each other, Dream would only need to move forward an inch to press their bodies together.

George sets his cup down, his eyes smoldering. “...You _do_ have something on your face.”

“What?”

Before Dream can register the words, George has leaned forwards and pressed a chaste kiss to Dream’s cheek. Dream’s heart thuds in his ribcage, thrumming with awe. 

“It’s gone now,” George grins, his cheeks glowing with pride.

Dream places a hand on his own cheek. “Wow.” Raises an eyebrow, and smiles. “I think I’m in love with you.”

George snorts at Dream’s statement. “Sure you are.”

“No, really!” Dream grabs both of George’s hands in his, bending down so that they’re nearly face to face. “You’ve stolen my heart, Georgie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Maybe if you give me my heart back.”

George giggles. “ _Make_ me.”

And Dream presses forward, pushing their lips together, and George melts underneath him. They move in sync, Dream’s hands roaming around George’s sides, the heat from their bodies mixing until they were one. Dream elicits a whine from George’s throat when he bites his lower lip, and his insides hum with satisfaction. When they pull apart, they’re both gasping for breath. “Good enough for you?” Dream manages.

George looks dazed, but he still has the audacity to shake his head. “I want to return it even _less_.”

“Wow. I feel cheated.”

“You’re shit at making deals, what can I say?”

“So you’re telling me kissing isn't the way to go,” Dream teases. “Shocker.”

“Maybe,” George hums, drawing their faces close again. It makes the embers inside Dream light up with desire. “Maybe… if you give me your number.”

“Smooth, George,” Dream laughs, “Real smooth.”

“Thank you. Now hand it over please.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Dream snickers, but he does as George asks. This night was beginning to turn out better than he ever would’ve imagined. “There. Is this trade satisfactory for you now?”

George’s fists cling to the front of Dream’s shirt. Dream wonders if George can feel his thudding heartbeat through his chest. “Hmm, I dunno. I feel like something more is missing…”

Dream patiently threads his fingers through the hairs on George’s nape. “Whatever is it that you desire, Georgie~?”

“I desire you to stop calling me that.”

Dream snickers. “Sorry, no can do.”

Their faces are drawn closer, George’s breath brushing against Dream’s lips. “...what if I desire you to keep kissing me?”

Dream grins. “Now _that_ one I can follow.”

* * *

『 _Georgie_ 』

you still never gave me that water

『 _Dream_ 』

WOW

you’re such an idiot

『 _Georgie_ 』

you owe me

『 _Dream_ 』

let’s at least agree not to meet up at a party again lmao

『 _Georgie_ 』

agreed

『 _Dream_ 』

I know a place. pretty good restaurant. 

Wanna go?

『 _Georgie_ 』

tmrw?

『 _Dream_ 』

sure

『 _Georgie_ 』

..is this a date?

『 _Dream_ 』

if you want it to be (;

『 _Georgie_ 』

you’re so dumb

『 _Dream_ 』

says the guy who keeps asking me for

water when he’s not even drunk anymore

『 _Georgie_ 』

I’m always drunk when I’m around you

『 _Dream_ 』

...

you’re too much

『 _Georgie_ 』

you love me anyway :)

* * *

“Wow,” George giggles, “Such a gentleman.”

“Yep,” Dream agrees, holding the door open to their luncheon destination. “That’s me. Best boyfriend material.”

The two keep playfully shoving each other until they grab seats near the edge of the cafe restaurant, sitting across from one another. Everything was perfect: the calm air, the hazy orange appearance of the atmosphere, the sunlight filtering through the blinds. It was Dream’s favorite place for a reason.

Dream very dramatically slides his glass of water to George’s end of the table. “Your precious water, Mr. Drunkard.”

George snorts, flipping through pages on the menu. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters in embarrassment, then quickly tries to change the topic. “What should I get?”

Dream wants to keep teasing him, but he eventually decides to just let him off easy. “Just grab anything.”

“I’ve never been here before,” George whines, “I don’t know what’s good.”

“Everything’s good,” Dream huffs, amused by George’s indecisive nature. “That’s why I brought us here.”

“Then…” George screws his eyes at the menu, lips pouted in thought, “...I’ll take the blueberry waffles.”

“ _George_ ,” Dream laughs, “We’re not eating _breakfast_.”

“So? You said everything here’s good.”

A chuckle later and Dream nods. “Fine, fine… I’ll get the avocado toast then.”

“Also a breakfast item,” George notes pointedly. 

“I’m keeping with the theme here,” Dream retorts. They place their orders and promptly start having a miniature feet-tousle underneath the table. Dream was winning — he had one of George’s feet securely trapped against the table leg — when the doors to the restaurant suddenly swing open with a _bang_.

A tall man and woman stand at the entrance, shades covering their eyes, guns perched in their hands. “Everyone down!” The man hollers. “This is a robbery!”

“What?” George blinks, looking frozen. “What’s going on?”

“Shit,” Dream grimaces, grabbing George’s hand from across the table. “Just sit still.”

“Dream—”

“All of you be quiet!” The woman shouts. “If I hear another peep out of any of you, you’re getting a bullet through your head.”

Dream squeezes George’s hand, hoping to convey reassurance. Everyone in the restaurant watches in terrified silence, families huddled together in fear as the two individuals march to the cashier, guns pointed threateningly at the employees. 

“Dream,” George whispers, his voice shaking, “I-I’m scared…”

“Shhh,” Dream whispers back, “It’s okay. You’re okay—”

“I _said_ NO talking!” The woman whips her head around to the two of them, glaring daggers. “Another word out of you, and I’ll point this gun at your head, understand?!” George starts shaking harder. Dream clasps both of their hands together, nods feebly to indicate that he does.

But then, the worst possible thing had to happen. A ringtone starts to play, and Dream faintly recognizes it as the song that had been playing when he and George kissed for the first time. He’s half honored, half horrified — because the lady with the pistol has started to turn her weapon towards them.

“Decline it,” she commands, “Or I’ll shoot you right now.”

George lets go of Dream’s hands, fumbles for his phone, his fingers shaking, and that’s when Dream feels it. Feels that something is about to go terribly, terribly wrong.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion: George misclicks, tapping the answer button. Mortification swallows George’s expression as Sapnap's voice comes out from the phone: “Hey, what’s up—”

The sound of a gunshot. Screams ring out. The phone goes skidding out of George’s hand, glass shards go flying, and blood. So much blood. Dream inhales, scrambling across the table, fingers fumbling over fabric. _Fuck_. George was shot. George was shot and he’s bleeding and he’s not gonna make it out alive—

“Stop moving,” the murderer behind him commands, “Or you’re gonna join him.”

“G- _George_ ,” Dream chokes out, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, “P-please, I have to get him to a hospital, he’s gonna die—”

“I _said_ to SHUT UP.”

“Dream,” George whispers, so faintly that he almost doesn’t hear it. It’s only barely louder than the sound of his heartbeat, quietly diminishing right under Dream’s fingertips. “Shh.”

“No. _No_ George, you _can’t_. You’re going to _die_ , you can’t… you can’t _do_ this—”

“I warned you,” the woman huffs grimly, and at the sound of the second gunshot, Dream’s world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're only just getting started (:
> 
> btw some fantastic fanart that blew me away (please go have a look, you won't regret):  
> 💕 alphabettea - [Mirage](https://peppdream.tumblr.com/post/644331660993855488/ayo-i-made-an-acc-idk-how-tf-tumblr-works-pt2)


	2. T̶i̶c̶k̶ ̶T̶i̶c̶k̶ ̶D̶r̶r̶r̶

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think I had a dream about you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Don't go to the restaurant on the day of the robbery

Dream’s eyes had been drawn to him the moment he entered the party.

Soft eyes and shy smile, a pair of dorky white-rimmed sunglasses perched on his perfect forehead, nestled between strands of inky-brown hair. Dream didn’t even try to hide his gaze, watching intently as the boy slowly raked his gaze past the party’s attendants until their eyes met. The reaction was instantaneous: his cheeks were dusted pink and, mouth slightly parted, he had quickly averted his eyes, looking embarrassed. Dream is confused when he feels his heart jolt in his chest. He leans back against a wall and quietly sips from his red cup.

The guy looks a little out of place in this type of crowd, his long-sleeved sweatshirt a stark contrast to all the half-naked bodies around him. Dream watches curiously as Sapnap tugs him through the crowd, his friend’s eyes lighting up upon seeing Dream.

“Yo Dream, there you are!”

“Hey Sapnap,” Dream greets, giving a half-hearted wave. “This is…?”

“The friend I said I’d be bringing,” Sapnap snickers, shoving the flustered boy forwards. “Dream, meet George. George, say hi to Dream.”

“H-hi,” George obediently stumbles, his eyes large and fascinated as they dart around Dream’s features. Dream feels his breath catch in his throat at the familiarity of their situation.

“I think I had a dream about you,” he blurts.

George’s eyes widen. “Wh-what?”

“Nice way to introduce yourself,” Sapnap snickers, appearing to think Dream was playing some practical joke. “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other, then. Can you point me to the drinks?” Dream pauses a moment before jabbing a thumb behind him and Sapnap nods, already flying to the kitchen. “Thanks, Dream!”

“You had a dream about me?” George mirrors. “How? I’m pretty sure this is our first time meeting...”

The memories are trickling back, little by little. The reality knocks against Dream’s skull, a relenting reminder of shit that will end up happening. Or… hasn’t happened yet? It’s confusing as hell. Dream isn’t sure how much he should say. Dream doesn’t think he _should_ say anything. He’s still filtering through the memories himself. “I…” he gulps, then slaps on a grin. “I’m living in a dream right now.”

“...Huh?”

“Because you’re so pretty,” Dream continues, “I think I must be dreaming.”

A pink flush crawls up George’s neck. “Ah—” he blinks, jaw dropped wide open. “You—”

“So, how’ve my best pals been getting along?!” Sapnap interrupts them, being a total cock-block again. Dream inwardly groans at his friend’s stupid antics.

“Sapnap,” George raises an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me you’re already drunk?”

“...no.”

“You only left for like, five minutes!”

“I am _not_ ,” Sapnap insists. “ _You’re_ the one that needs to loosen up, George. C’mon!” And with a yelp, George is promptly dragged away to the kitchen. 

“Lay off from the orange juice!” Dream calls out after them. He doesn’t follow, despite really wanting to. Because, _sheesh_ , he has a whole _mess_ of thoughts to sort out first. Namely, why was this all so familiar?

And… was that really not just a dream?

Dream can remember it all so clearly now: the way George’s lips had felt on his, the luncheon date they had planned, the woman’s ice-cold gaze as she had pointed her gun at their backs— it was real. It was all real, and it had happened, and Dream remembered it all.

Dream had gone back in time.

His mind whirls as he takes in that reality, watches as Sapnap does cartwheels around the living room and riles up a crowd for himself. It’s just like last time, only, this time George isn’t knocked out. He sits on the same couch a few feet away, legs drawn up to his chest. Dream hesitates for a second before walking himself over.

“Hey,” Dream greets, sitting on an adjacent cushion.

George’s eyes flicker over, and Dream swears he sees his cheeks flare pink. “Oh. Hi Dream.”

“Not gonna join your friend?” 

He shakes his head, bangs bouncing a little at the movement. Dream has to hold himself back from reaching out to touch it. “Sapnap’s too wild — I don’t understand him at all.”

“Not really a party guy, huh?”

“Don’t like parties,” George affirms. “I was _dragged_ here against my will.”

Dream gives a chuckle. “Then why don’t you leave, while he’s not watching?”

“Can’t,” George shrugs defeatedly. “My ride isn’t gonna be available until at least an hour later.”

Dream lets out a breath. “I can take you back home.”

George turns slowly, eyes blinking in curiosity. His eyes are so pretty. So _alive_ , and not dead. _Not_ dead, Dream repeats. A reminder for himself more than anything. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dream manages, trying desperately to shake away the image of George bleeding underneath him, “my head’s kind of been hurting and I’m ready to call it a night. If you need a lift back, I can give you a ride.”

George seems to be mulling it over. “Okay,” he decides, nodding. “If you’re sure.”

“Come on,” Dream offers a hand, “Let’s say goodbye to Sapnap.”

He accepts Dream’s hand, and Dream’s chest bursts into fire. His hand, so small and fragile, just like that scene of him lying hopelessly on that restaurant sofa. Dream makes a small promise to himself that he’s _not_ going to let that happen to George again. No matter what. They make their way to Sapnap, inform him that they’re planning on leaving (“So soon?” “Sap, it’s 12am.”), and get into Dream’s car.

“It’s so cool that you own a convertible,” George comments.

Oh. This was new. “I guess. You want one?”

George shrugs. “Even if I had one, I couldn’t drive it.

“Hm?” Dream tilts his head, “You can’t drive?”

“Nope.”

“Huh. Sucks.”

“Is it hard?”

“Not really.”

George hums a little. “Maybe I should try getting a license someday.” The car settles back into silence, the purring of the engine the only sound inside their vehicle. “Thanks for warning me, by the way. About the orange juice.”

Dream chuckles wryly. “Yeah, I figured you’d need it. Lightweight.”

“I’m—” Dream watches in his peripheral as George’s face goes pink. “How can you even _know_ that for sure.”

Dream hesitates, realizes he _shouldn’t_ know that as of yet. Realizes George probably doesn’t know either, if today was really his first party. “Just a guess,” he eventually replies. “You look like a lightweight.”

“ _Wow_ ,” George deadpans. “So judgemental.”

“It’s a compliment.”

George gives him a puzzled stare, and Dream just smiles. He opens his mouth like he’s about to respond, but then he freezes. “Wait… do you even know where I live?”

Dream blinks blankly. _Fuck._ “Um.”

“I don’t think I ever told you!” George frowns. “Do you even know where you’re driving?”

“Of course,” Dream racks his brain for an excuse, “Sapnap texted me your address.”

“...oh.”

“What,” Dream chuckles nervously, “you thought I was just driving you around without any idea where I was going?”

“You could be a kidnapper,” George remarks, and Dream wheezes.

“Sure, but you got into the same car as the kidnapper. Does that mean you have Stockholm syndrome?”

“ _What_ ,” George sputters, and Dream only laughs harder. “Why would you _say_ that. I do _not_ have Stockholm syndrome.”

“Whatever you say,” Dream giggles. He’s just glad they floated past his mistake without incident.

When they finally reach George’s apartment complex and Dream walks him up to the door, he comes to a sudden realization that he’s fucked the situation up. George isn’t drunk, so he isn’t going to ask him for water anymore, and that means he’ll have no reason to seek out Dream at the next party.

“Thanks for the ride,” George nods, having already opened his door. A slight wind rakes past them, carrying George’s scent towards Dream’s nostrils.

“Yeah,” Dream breathes, wondering if he should bring it up. _How_ he should bring it up. But no solution comes to mind. “No problem.”

“Goodnight?”

“...night.”

And then the door shuts closed, and George is gone, leaving Dream out in the cold. Dream clenches his fists, the neurons in his brain firing with worry.

They didn’t make the promise to meet again.

* * *

“You’re back.”

“What?”

Dream has never felt so relieved in his life. George is still here, even without the promise. “Despite hating parties, you seem pretty eager to keep going to them.”

George flushes, his fingers tapping nervously on his red cup, mumbling a response that Dream can’t quite make out. “...didn’t know… to find you…”

 _Ah_. “So,” Dream smirks, “You came here to look for _me_.”

George bites his lip, but he doesn’t deny it. Dream is once again reminded of how soft and pink George’s lips look.

“You could’ve asked Sapnap,” Dream eventually says, playing into the same route as last time. “He has my number.”

“I don’t wanna ask him,” George replies as expected, but something is different this time. His eyes aren’t averted — on the contrary, they’re trained directly on Dream.

“Why?”

“I just… don’t.” 

A beat of silence, where Dream realizes he can no longer copy their previous discussion. An awkward silence falls over them as the music (that same stupid song that was George’s ringtone last time) washes over them. He isn’t sure how to continue the conversation, so he tunes out to the song, actually listening to the lyrics for once:

_🎵Roxanne, Roxanne, all she wanna do is party all night.🎵_

_Huh_ , Dream thinks dully to himself, _what are the chances?_

“Hey,” George prompts.

Dream blinks in surprise. “What?”

_🎵God damn, Roxanne…🎵_

“You’re…” George visibly swallows. “You’re really handsome.”

Dream feels a smile light up on his face, his cheeks flushed with pride. “Thank you,” he breathes. “You… you’re quite pretty yourself.”

“You said that, last time,” George notices.

Oh. “Did I?” Dream mumbles, getting lost in George’s eyes. They’ve drawn close to one another again, like magnets of opposite charges, apprehensive electricity zapping between them.

_🎵Roxanne, Roxanne...🎵_

_So repetitive_ , Dream thinks distastefully. But this particular repetition — of George pressed up against him, their lips hungrily connected to one another as he melts underneath him, hands clinging to fabric as he goads sounds out of George’s throat — this repetition, Dream thinks he’s willing to live out again.

 _I’ll keep you safe this time_ , Dream swears to himself. _I’m not going to let you die_.

* * *

『 _Dream_ 』

hey georgie

『 _Georgie💕_ 』

ew. what is _that_

『 _Dream_ 』

ur nickname. You like it?

『 _Georgie💕_ 』

I hate it

『 _Dream_ 』

I knew you’d love it

anyway, I know a pretty good restaurant. You wanna go sometime?

『 _Georgie💕_ 』

...is this you asking me out on a date

『 _Dream_ 』

you know it ;)

『 _Georgie💕_ 』

*gags*

fine, but only cuz it’s you

tomorrow?

『 _Dream_ 』

um… no I’m busy then. How about the day after?

『 _Georgie💕_ 』

sounds good <3

『 _Dream_ 』

<3

* * *

“Where are we going?”

“I told you,” Dream laughs, “it’s a surprise, Georgie.”

They were currently on the road, driving to Dream’s new favorite restaurant. (The old one wasn’t really on par anymore, with the shitty reminder from Dream’s memories and all.) Like Dream had predicted, the robbery that occurred yesterday had been splayed all across numerous newspapers. 

Ironically, no one died in the incident this time. It kind of pissed Dream off.

“ _Ew_ ,” George makes a face. “Stop _calling_ me that.”

“Why?”

“It’s… it sounds dumb.”

“But you make such a funny face when I do it,” Dream hums charmingly. George groans from the passenger seat, and then Dream hears it: again with the dumb Roxanne song. That was probably the name of the song too, if the lyrics were anything to go by.

“Why is that your ringtone?” Dream mutters. 

“It was playing in the background when we kissed,” George answers happily, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Hey Sapnap, what’s up?”

“George!” Sapnap’s voice rings out from the device, “Nothing much, just wanted to check in with how your date’s going~”

George blushes, sputters, “I-it’s _fine_ , Sapnap. What are you, my mother?”

“Hey Dream!” Sapnap’s voice raises in greeting, “You’re there aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“You better treat my Georgie well! Don’t drag him into your pattern of… whatever.”

George perks up at that, curiously tilting his head. “What pattern?”

“Anyway, it’s good to hear you guys are doing well! Enjoy your date, losers~” And with a click, Sapnap had hung up.

“What pattern?” George repeats, appearing steadfast on getting an answer.

Dream shrugs. “I just have a history.”

“Of…?”

“Of dating,” Dream completes warily, “and breaking up. A lot.”

“A history of being a player,” George summarizes and Dream nods, because even though that isn’t quite it, it’s the easiest explanation. “Are you going to break up with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” The answer is instant, without a second of hesitation. Dream grins.

“Then I won’t.” George gives him a strange look, almost like he’s asking _is it really that easy?_ Dream kind of gets why he’s doubtful. “You’re different,” Dream explains, energy humming under his hands at the truth of the statement. “I don’t have any intentions of letting you go.”

“Unless this was part of your plan,” George ponders slowly, “to purposefully target a non-driver and woo me with your flashy car.”

Dream lets out a slight wheeze. “Well, is it working?”

“...maybe.”

“It totally is.”

“Oh my god, you suck.”

Dream laughs, sees the light in front of him turn green and steps on the gas pedal. “You love me—”

“ _DREAM!_ ”

And then time slowed down again, as Dream took in the sight of George’s horrified expression. He turned his head with dread, saw the vehicle breaking the traffic laws flying straight at them, watched as the metal in the door bent inwards. Dream’s head hits something hard as their car flips, skidding along the road, jostling them in their seatbelts, the sound of creaking metal and burnt tires filling his nostrils.

Dream’s eyesight has gone hazy. He thinks he heard screaming, but he’s not sure. His head hurts. His stomach hurts. He puts his hand there to check if something’s wrong, but it feels wet. _Blood_ , Dream realizes faintly. _Fuck_. “George…?” He croaks out weakly, turning his neck to look for his boyfriend, and his eyes widen.

George, his eyes closed, the chair he’s attached to stained with red, his forehead smeared with blood. _No_ , Dream feels his heart shrivel up. _Not again. Please._

Dream struggles to remove his seatbelt, ignores the stickiness growing on his shirt, blocks out the screaming in his chest. He extends an arm, reaching for George, but he doesn’t reach him in time before the blackness consumes him again.

* * *

Dream’s eyes jumped to him the moment he entered the party.

Soft eyes and shy smile, a pair of dorky white-rimmed sunglasses perched on his perfect forehead, nestled between strands of inky-brown hair. Dream felt hyper-focused, watched intently as the boy slowly raked his gaze past the party’s attendants until their eyes met. The reaction was instantaneous: his cheeks were dusted pink and, mouth slightly parted, he had quickly averted his eyes, looking embarrassed. Dream’s heart only thuds sadly in his chest, a displeased pitter-patter in his ribcage.

 _I can’t believe I’m back here again_ , Dream thinks in disbelief. _I can’t believe I let him die… again_.

George looks out of place in this type of crowd, his long-sleeved sweatshirt a stark contrast to all the half-naked bodies around him. Dream has to restrain himself from running right to him, using all his will-power to stand still as Sapnap tugs George through the crowd, his friend’s eyes lighting up upon seeing Dream.

“Yo Dream, there you are!”

“Sapnap,” Dream greets, not even bothering to wave this time. “Is this George?”

“You guessed it! The one and only,” Sapnap snickers, shoving a very flustered George forwards. “Dream, meet George. George, say hi to Dream.”

“H-hi,” George obediently stumbles, his eyes large and fascinated as they dart around Dream’s features. Dream feels himself let out a shaky breath. _It’s fine_ , he repeats to himself, _I’m fine. George is fine. Everything is fine._

“Hello beautiful,” Dream greets, offering a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Uh—” George glows bright red, “UHM??”

Sapnap chortles in laughter. “Wow, ever the flirtatious man you are, Dream.”

“I’m only saying what I think is true,” Dream replies honestly. He also thought George’s face couldn’t get any redder than it was already, but after that statement, he realizes he was definitely wrong.

“Whatever, kiss-ass. I’m gonna leave you two to get to know each other. Can you point me to the drinks?”

“Go find it yourself,” Dream replies snarkily, getting kind of tired at this point of showing Sapnap the way every time.

“... _fine_. Grumpy-head.” And Sapnap’s already flying towards the kitchen. _Maybe he’ll take longer to get back without my help_ , Dream thinks hopefully.

“You think I’m pretty?” George blinks up at him with an awed-eyed expression, and Dream thinks his heart falls into his shoes when he looks into those coffee eyes. But it also fills him with sadness, knowing that he’s the only one who remembers, knowing that he’s already failed to protect those eyes not only once, but twice now.

“Yeah,” Dream whispers, recalling the gentle expression of sleepy-George, the excited smile of happy George, the blushing mess of drunk George. “The prettiest.”

“Ah.” George giggles nervously, the tips of his ears turning pink. “You mean it?”

“Yeah,” Dream murmurs.

“You…” a pause of hesitance as he bites his lip, “Y-you’re also very—”

“So, how’ve my best pals been getting along?!” Sapnap interrupts, _again_ , and Dream audibly groans. Fucking great. There goes his hopes of having a longer time to talk with George.

“Fuck you, Sapnap.”

“Wha… _what_.” His friend gasps in mock betrayal. “What did I do?!”

“Exist.”

“But,” Sapnap wiggles his eyebrows, “If I didn’t exist, who would’ve brought pretty little George here to this party today…?”

Dream hesitates, unable to help the flush crawling up his cheeks. “Um.” Well, shit _._ There’s nothing he can say to counter it, because it’s true.

“Got you there!” Sapnap cackles wildly, but to Dream’s relief, George looks just as embarrassed as he does (“I’m not little! We’re like, the same height?!”). “C’mon George, let’s loosen up, grab some drinks!”

Annnd there they go again, away to the kitchen. It takes Dream a second too late to realize he hadn’t reminded George about the orange juice alcohol. Should he go after them…?

Nah. There were way bigger things to worry about on Dream’s plate.

Namely, why did they keep dying? How was Dream continuously going back in time? And most importantly, how was Dream supposed to prevent their deaths?

At least Dream knows the causes of the first two deaths. With information like that, it was completely possible to avoid those causes. Now, it was up to him to figure out what the right course of action was going to be.

He can only hope he doesn’t fuck it up again.


	3. B̶a̶d̶ ̶L̶i̶a̶r̶

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What kind of person do you think I am?”
> 
> “Handsome,” George breathes, “Really handsome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶s̶t̶a̶u̶r̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶o̶b̶b̶e̶r̶y̶  
> • Don't drive to the restaurant

Sapnap’s already doing cartwheels around the living room. Without even needing to look for George, Dream moves on autopilot to be by his side. He’s right where Dream expected him to be, splayed out across the couch like someone half-dead.

“You drank too much,” Dream guesses bluntly, and George groans.

“I hate parties,” he mumbles, and Dream gives a gentle huff at his soft voice.

“But you don’t hate orange juice?”

George’s eyes are half-closed, but he still manages to give Dream a funny look. “That… you’re making fun of me.”

“No~” Dream smiles, chuckling. “I would never.”

“Well, you’re doing it right now, so you’re a liar.”

Dream snorts. “Okay, maybe I am.” But he can’t help himself — George is just so fun to tease.

George shuffles a little, repositioning himself on the couch. “...do you do this a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Lie.”

Dream frowns. “What do you mean?”

“When you said…” George’s eyes are closed but his brows are narrowed, an arm lifted as if he’s intensely thinking. “When you said I was purrty.”

 _Oh my god_. “Purrty,” Dream repeats, a delighted smile growing on his face. Holy shit. This was hilarious.

“P-p…” George’s frown deepens. “Pur… pre… pretty,” he eventually manages.

“You are _so_ drunk,” Dream laughs. “Do you need a glass of water?”

“You’re avoiding the queshen,” George mumbles, but Dream is already leaving, in search of the water of sustenance. When he’s returned with the glass, he’s met with exactly what he expected: George knocked out cold, chest silently rising and falling. Dream turns to look for Sapnap but he’s already standing there, eyebrows raised at the scene.

“Are you checking him out or…?”

“You suck. I am _not_ ,” Dream sighs. “I’m just worried about him and you know it.”

“I do _not_ know it,” Sapnap corrects. “Don’t try to fool me, Dream — I know you’ve had your eyes on him the whole night.

“I… really?” Dream isn’t sure what he’s more surprised by: the fact that he was caught looking, or the fact that he was looking so often that he was getting caught in the first place.

“You’re so oblivious,” Sapnap snickers. “Go on, then. Take him home.”

“You sure?” Dream cocks an eyebrow, surprised by the turn of events. “You wanna trust George in the hands of a kiss-ass?”

“I withdraw my insult,” Sapnap chuckles. “One look at your dreamy-eyed expression is enough proof for me.”

“Proof… for what?”

But Sapnap doesn’t answer, just saunters back off into the crowd. “I’ll text you his address!” he calls over his shoulder. Dream just rolls his eyes and prepares for the inevitable journey back to George’s home. He doesn’t even need to check the text Sapnap sends him to get George back — he’s basically memorized this route by now.

“George,” Dream whispers. “Wake up.”

“Huh…?” George blinks, making that cute sleepy-face again. Dream is both happy he gets to see it again, and sad because he knows the circumstances that’re allowing it aren’t happy things. It’s a conflicting tug-of-war, of appreciating things and also promising himself they can’t come back here again. Not if Dream wants to keep George alive.

“We’re at your apartment complex,” Dream explains. “I drove you back.”

George’s eyes widen. “O-oh.”

“Yeah.” And before George can ask, “Sapnap knows about it, don’t worry.”

Dream helps George out of the car and walks him up the same path. “...thanks,” George mumbles, though he sounds a bit confused. His cheeks are still pink, but now Dream isn’t sure whether it’s from blushing or just an effect of being drunk.

“No problem,” Dream replies. When George doesn’t enter his apartment straight away, Dream tilts his head. “Is there something you want to say?”

George opens his mouth. Then shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, a small smile playing on his lips. “Just… thanks.”

“Yeah,” Dream breathes. “You’re welcome.”

They don’t make a promise this time either. But Dream has a very good feeling they’ll be meeting again.

* * *

“You’re laying off on the alcohol this time, huh?”

“Oh. Yeah,” George sheepishly rubs his arms. “Why, do you want me to be drunk?”

Dream hums noncommittally. “You’re cute when you’re drunk,” he mutters.

George smiles, a pink dust settling over his cheeks, one eyebrow raised in what Dream can only assume is an amused manner. “Uh-huh.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“You do have a history of lying to me,” is George’s retort.

“Why do _you_ think I want you drunk, then?”

George’s face is tilted downwards, but Dream catches it when he licks his lips. “...To take advantage of me.”

“W-WHAT.” Dream chokes on his drink at the bold assumption, but he ends it with laughter. “ _George!_ I am a _gentleman_. I would do no such thing.”

“Sure you are.”

“What kind of person do you think I am?” Dream snorts, feels his heart thrumming at George’s acute expression. It’s a look he hasn’t seen before. 

George looks out into the distance, eyes unfocused on the party’s guests. _Roxanne_ blares in the background, and Dream tucks his hands into his pockets, waiting for George’s response. He wonders what sort of answer he’ll get.

_🎵She from Malibu, Malibu, if you ain’t gotta foreign then she laugh at you.🎵_

“Rich,” George eventually answers.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Dream huffs in amusement.

“Arrogant,” George continues, “Rude. Deceiving.”

Despite the insults, George shifts closer to Dream so that their shoulders are brushing. A small smirk twitches onto Dream’s face. “What else?” he coaxes.

“Flirtatious. Dangerous.” George hesitates, raising his head, “And…”

“And…?”

“Handsome,” George breathes, “Really handsome.”

And when Dream initiates the kiss, their mouths colliding into each other, George doesn’t pull away. He only bends to Dream’s will, whines falling from his lips in a chorus that Dream knows he’ll never get tired of hearing.

_🎵Malibu, Malibu, spending daddy’s money with an attitude.🎵_

* * *

『 _Dream_ 』

go on a date with me gogy

『 _Gogy💕_ 』

wtf

are u using pet names now??

『 _Dream_ 』

do you like it (:

『 _Gogy💕_ 』

why ask when you already know the answer

idiot

『 _Dream_ 』

you love me

『 _Gogy💕_ 』

doubtful

『 _Dream_ 』

so you don’t wanna go on a date with me? :(

『 _Gogy💕_ 』

…

only if you’re paying

『 _Dream_ 』

ofc, I’m a gentleman~

day after tomorrow?

『 _Gogy💕_ 』

okay :)

* * *

“Hey Dream!”

“Hi George.”

“No need to be so stiff,” George teases, shutting his apartment door closed behind him. “It’s just a date.”

“I’m not stiff,” Dream disputes. Just anxious. Fingers a little jittery, tapping on his leg, wondering if things will go wrong today again. _They can’t_ , Dream punctuates, _I won’t let it._

“Then nervous,” George compromises, and Dream shrugs.

“Maybe a little,” he admits, clasping George’s hand in his and pressing a kiss to his mouth. It’s reassuring feeling his boyfriend react to his touch, curl into his affection. _He’s alive_ , Dream repeats in his head. _He’s fine. Now I just need to make sure it stays that way._

“What,” George snickers after they break apart, “the playboy’s scared of a little outing? Surely you’ve done this plenty of times before.”

“Yeah I have,” Dream confirms. “But you’re different.”

The tips of George’s ears turn pink. “I’m sure you’ve… used that line plenty of times before, too.”

Dream pauses at the observation as he recalls a distant conversation, the sound of a _Roxanne_ ringtone playing in the background. “I…” he swallows, “I have once, before.”

“Well, there you have it—”

“It was for the same person though.”

George blinks at the implication, looking confused. “This is your first time saying that to me, though?”

Dream shakes his head. “Just… nevermind.” He doesn’t even know why he bothered bringing it up. It just resurfaces bad memories.

George still looks concerned, but he doesn’t pursue it, his attention taken away by the very significant lack of Dream’s convertible in the parking lot. “Where’s your car?”

Dream shuts his eyes tight, tries to forget about the smell of burnt metal, the sight of blood dripping on the chair seats. “We’re walking.”

“ _Oh_.” George blinks, “Is it far?”

“Nah,” Dream lies. 

“You’re lying again.”

Dream chuckles, squeezes their hands tighter. George knows him too well. “C’mon, it’s this way.”

Despite having pointed Dream out on his lie, George follows obediently. Dream doesn’t talk much about himself (he doesn’t like talking about himself anyway), but George is a chatterbox, freely revealing information about his childhood, his friendship with Sapnap, his favorite foods and animals and colors. (Dream is embarrassed to admit it, but his brain soaks it all in like a sponge.)

“So blue is your favorite color,” Dream echoes in wonderment, automatically connecting the statement to George’s theme of constantly being decked out in blue. He’d dismissed the corduroy jeans and indigo sweatshirts as simply a coincidence before, but with this new information… Could it be? “Don’t tell me blueberries are also…?” A giggle of a response, which Dream supposes is an answer in itself. “Wow. That actually explains so much.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t even about favorites anymore, George. I think you have an _obsession_.”

“Not my fault,” his boyfriend defends. “I’m colorblind — it’s the only color that looks good.”

 _Oh_. “Really?” Had George always been colorblind? After all this time, Dream hadn’t even known. 

George nods. “How much longer are we gonna have to walk?” he complains out of the blue. “Are you sure there isn’t a shortcut somewhere we can take?”

Dream stops walking. “Well,” he points, “We could go through there.”

George turns, and Dream grins at the hesitant expression on his boyfriend’s face. “...you don’t seriously mean that dark, creepy alleyway.”

“I _do_ mean that dark, creepy alleyway,” Dream laughs. 

“Will it really be faster?”

“Yup,” Dream confirms. He’s pretty sure George won’t take the offer though, so he starts walking, only to be pulled back by his sleeve.

“Let’s go,” George decides.

“What? You’re kidding.”

“No, seriously! Let’s go through the dark, creepy alleyway.”

“You’re so dumb,” Dream laughs, but he lets himself be tugged into said back-alley, George bravely leading the way. His palms tingle from their linked hands, his soul thrumming in a happy way he just can’t explain with words.

“If there’s a shortcut, why shouldn’t we take it?”

Dream intertwines their fingers. “I didn’t know my boyfriend was so brave~” he praises, pleased to see the blush of George’s reaction.

“Well _yeah_ , I _am_ —”

“Stop moving,” a gruff voice says behind them. “No funny movements, or you’re gonna get hurt.”

Dream gulps, head swerving as he sees a second figure block off their only exit. _Fuck_. Seriously? All around them, men are suddenly appearing from the shadows, wearing eerily giddy expressions. Dream casts a side-ways glance at George, their eyes meet, quietly communicating a silent but terrified exchange. But what George didn’t know was that Dream was terrified for completely different reasons. 

“Drop your wallets on the ground,” the other man speaks up this time, wearing a nasty grin on his face as he holds up his knife, the metal glinting in the light. “Hurry up.”

Dream has no intention of disobeying — it just wouldn’t be worth the risk. He slowly moves his hands to his pocket, hoping to convey an aura of obedience, drags the wallet out and drops it. It hits the ground with a _thud_. “There,” Dream grumbles, “I did what you asked. Can you let us go?”

“Not yet, mister,” the thug quips, “Your _fag_ hasn’t dropped us anything yet.”

George winces at the name-calling, casting Dream a terrified look. “I—” his voice is wobbling, “I don’t have mine with me.”

“Don’t lie to us, boy. Drop the wallet _now_ , or we’re going to have to resort to some not-so-peaceful methods.”

“I-I’m not lying.”

“Look,” Dream cuts in, his heart beating too fast, _way_ too fast, “My wallet has more than enough money inside it. Can’t you just take mine and be done with it—”

“ _BE QUIET._ ” The men take a few steps forward. Dream and George are backed up against the wall, completely surrounded on all sides. “You listen up now. I’m going to search you, and if I find a wallet… you know what’s going to happen to you, don’t ya?”

George freezes up, and that’s when Dream realizes: George lied about not having his wallet on him. Which was _stupid_ , because who the fuck cared about money in a life or death situation like this?

Why the fuck did George _lie?_

A stouter man steps out from the circle surrounding them, the one tasked with investigating George’s pockets. However, his movement leaves an opening and Dream sees his chance. Quickly balling up his fist, Dream sends a punch right into the thug’s midsection, sending him flying backwards. Without a moment to waste, Dream’s already pulling George through the chaos he’s created, ignoring the throbbing of his knuckles, cursing under his breath, “ _Fuck,_ George, why the _fuck_ did you lie?!”

“I— Well maybe I _learned_ it from a certain somebody—”

“Why do you care so much about some stupid _cash?_ I have _plenty_ of it—”

“It’s not about the _money_ , Dream, I have _important_ things in there—”

And time slows down just as Dream is about to pass the corner, sees the bottle swinging down at his head. He ducks aside, a completely instinctive reaction, but his heart drops to his feet as he realizes his mistake, hears the bottle crack to pieces behind him as it hits another target. Their hands let go of each other. Dream is terrified of looking, but he still does, takes in the sight of George’s crumpled form on the floor, completely soaked with a foul-smelling liquid and _again._

_Again with the blood. Far too much of it._

Dream can’t even move. He’s completely frozen in place as their attacker rummages through George’s pockets, says, “Looks like he had a wallet on ‘em after all—”

And then all Dream sees is red. He flies into a rage, his fists flying, his chest on fire. “ _Fuck OFF,”_ he screams, “GET _AWAY FROM GEORGE_ —”

And then there’s a _splurch_ , blood spraying all over the floor, and it takes Dream a second to realize _oh_.

_That’s his blood._

The point of the knife exits from Dream’s center and his whole body thumps against the ground, heavy like an anvil. A searing, agonizing pain grows from his chest, crawls down his spine until he’s immobilized, and all he can do is cry, tears welling up in his eyes as George, _George_ , lies bleeding out in front of him, eyes closed in death once again.

Dream failed once again.

“I thought the boss said we were supposed to let them go?”

“A situation came up, I didn’t have a choice!”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw it in his _eyes_ , man, he was going to _kill me_. It was either me or him—”

“Wait. Do you hear that?”

Their words fade out into nothingness, drowned out by an all-too-familiar ringtone. And the pain in Dream’s chest slowly ebbs away, drips into the void like an hourglass almost out of time, until all Dream can see is black.

_🎵Roxanne, Roxanne, all she wanna do is party all night.🎵_

* * *

Dream’s eyes jumped to him the moment he entered the party.

Soft eyes and shy smile, a pair of dorky white-rimmed sunglasses perched on his perfect forehead, nestled between strands of inky-brown hair. Dream noticed it this time and took note of it, the dumb blue theme of his boyfriend’s attire. George slowly rakes his gaze past the party’s attendants until their eyes meet, and the reaction is instantaneous: his cheeks dusted pink and, mouth slightly parted, he had quickly averted his eyes, looking embarrassed. 

Dream’s heart squeezes, a frustrated breath crawling out of his throat. _Fuck_ , he thinks to himself, _Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

George has never looked so out of place as he does now, a stark blueberry among a basket of peaches. All this is making Dream’s head ring. He only watches in painful silence as Sapnap tugs George through the crowd, his friend’s eyes lighting up upon seeing Dream.

“Yo Dream, there you are!”

Dream doesn’t even reply this time, gaze trained on George. _George_ , who died because Dream was careless, because he was useless, because he had _failed._

_He’d failed George again._

“Dream,” Sapnap introduces, gesturing dramatically, “meet George. George, say hi to Dream.”

“H-hi,” George obediently stumbles, his eyes large and fascinated as they dart around Dream’s features. And before Dream even registers what his body is doing, he’s tugged George into an embrace, desperately hugging him to his chest. “D- _Dream?_ ”

Everything’s crashing down inside of him. Dream can’t handle it, wants to give up, wants to curl up into a ball and cry himself to sleep, but he knows he can’t. Not yet. Not when images of George dying keep flashing up behind his eyelids, his bloody body hanging limp and lifeless. Not when he needs to protect George, this fierce feeling of fire growing within his chest, telling him that he can do this. Only he can do this. 

Dream _can do this_.

He finally lets go, though very reluctantly. “Nice to meet you, George.” At George’s flabbergasted expression, Dream chuckles. “Sorry, not a hugger? That’s just how I greet people.”

“Um.” If Sapnap notices Dream’s lie, he doesn’t point it out, only awkwardly shuffling to the side as if he can sense that something’s off. “I’m just gonna go grab some drinks and leave you two to get to know each other,” he decides promptly, already flying away to the kitchen.

“I-I’m okay,” George eventually responds, his fully-pink face giving away the fact that he is very much _not_ okay. “I was just surprised, is all— uH??”

Dream didn’t notice when he’d started to do it, but at George’s exclamation he snaps into recognition: one of his hands had automatically moved up to cup George’s face, and had been tenderly stroking his cheek. “Sorry,” Dream says, except he doesn’t move his hand away. He doesn’t want to move away, when George is right in front of him looking blushy as he always does, just _begging_ to be touched.

“...what are you doing?” George asks, voice so quiet that Dream almost doesn’t hear him. The flutter of his eyelashes are doing crazy things to Dream, makes his chest burn with love, with possession, with _fear._

“You’re so pretty,” Dream murmurs, “Why are you so pretty?” and George’s face flares up with heat. Dream notices, with fascination, that he can even feel it under his fingertips.

“ _A-ah—_ ”

“Sooo, how’ve my best pals been getting along—” Sapnap begins to interrupt, but Dream shoves him away this time, hoping his glare can convey just how much he wants Sapnap to _fuck off_.

“Sapnap,” Dream warns, “Give us a minute, please.”

It only takes a second for Sapnap to look between the two of them and get the hint. “Oooh,” he hums in realization, smugly wiggling his eyebrows, “Right. Sorry. I’ll go then—”

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” George starts to protest, but Dream places a placating finger on his lips to shush him.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Dream whispers. When George doesn’t move right away, eyes nervously flicking around his face, Dream raises an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“I…” George swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I want to.”

“Then do it,” Dream challenges, heart lighting up from the way George eyes flicker to his lips. And in a courageous fashion Dream never would’ve expected, George promptly takes Dream’s face in his hands, stands up on his tip-toes, and kisses him.


	4. F̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶W̶a̶t̶e̶r̶

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I knew you’d like them.”
> 
> “How?” George laughs happily, “I’ve never even told you my favorite color.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶s̶t̶a̶u̶r̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶o̶b̶b̶e̶r̶y̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶d̶r̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶s̶t̶a̶u̶r̶a̶n̶t̶  
> • Don't enter any alleyways

“Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow?”

George perks up, a happy blush dusting across his cheeks. “Sure. Do you have a place in mind?”

“Yeah,” Dream nods. “Favorite restaurant. I’ll text you the details.” Everything was shifted a day earlier because of his eagerness to kiss George, and though Dream had originally wanted to avoid that to keep the “butterfly effect” at bay, there’s not very much he can do about it now. But at least he knows the robbery won’t happen until a few days later, so that was a plus.

“Okay,” George replies, blinking shyly, “Can we…?”

Dream obliges, leaning down to press a firm kiss on George’s mouth. “Goodnight,” Dream whispers against his lips, and George shivers.

“Night, Dream.” One hug later, and he’s disappeared into his apartment.

* * *

『 _Dream_ 』

Is it okay if we walk there?

『Blueberry✨』

um sure?

but is there a reason you can’t drive?

『 _Dream_ 』 

yes

I want to walk with you

『Blueberry✨』

???

okay...

『 _Dream_ 』

don’t worry, it’ll be fun!

and exercise is good for you

『Blueberry✨』

-_-

I wish to be compensated for this inconvenience

『 _Dream_ 』

will kisses work?

『Blueberry✨』

...yes

『 _Dream_ 』

then I’ll prepare lots just for you 💕

* * *

“Oh my god,” George blushes the instant he steps out. “Why did you get me _flowers_.”

“Because I want to shower my sweet boyfriend with gifts,” Dream teases, gracefully presenting his blue bouquet and pressing a tender kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead.

George giggles bashfully. “Well… thank you, I guess. What are they called?”

“Hm…” Dream racks his brain, “I think it was Smeraldos, or something?”

George holds them close to his face, momentarily closes his eyes. “They’re very pretty,” he breathes, and Dream feels his insides flutter.

 _Pretty like you_ , he thinks in his head. “I knew you’d like them.”

“How?” George laughs happily, turning away for a moment to find a vase for the flora. “I’ve never even told you my favorite color.”

Dream freezes, but George thankfully doesn’t see it, his back turned to the doorway. “Lucky guess,” Dream eventually manages. “Anyone could figure it out just from looking at you.”

“Is that a jab at my outfit choice?”

Dream chuckles. “Maybe~”

“You’re such an idiot,” George huffs, but he says it with such fondness that Dream thinks his heart probably melted from it.

They start walking, but Dream purposefully leads them down a different path from last time. There’s no _way_ he’ll let George walk even a meter within that dreadful alleyway, even if the incident supposedly happened on a different day. Dream isn’t gonna risk it.

Their exchange is pretty much the same as before, nothing Dream hasn’t heard before. But George’s phone starts ringing mid-conversation, and Dream frowns when he hears it. “It’s not Roxanne?” he blurts.

“Hm? What’s that?”

Dream narrows his eyes, feeling like he’s missing something important. “When we had our first kiss…”

Now it’s George’s turn to look confused. “Yeah, it’s called Heat Waves?”

 _Is that the song that was playing at the first party?_ Dream wonders. “I… yeah,” Dream mutters as George accepts the call. _How odd_ , Dream muses. To think he wouldn’t hear that dumb song now just because they didn’t meet for that second time. Dream is half-relieved, half-disappointed. It’s a song that holds both the precious and the worst of Dream’s memories. 

And, the vibes of the new song had felt all wrong. All out of order. It’s hard to explain the disconcerted feeling Dream gets when he heard it — almost like they’re in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Just as he was thinking this, Dream stops in his tracks, sees a woman standing ahead of them. She’s pointing above them, a terrified expression on her face as she screams, “ _LOOK OUT!!”_

Time slows. A tinkle of wind chimes can be heard as Dream looks up, sees multiple things at once: a tall skyscraper, the arm of a construction vehicle hanging over the edge, and a stack of unavoidable fast-falling metal bars headed right in their direction.

There isn’t enough time to do anything. With a deafening _crash_ , both Dream and George are instantly crushed under the weight of tons of construction materials. As darkness claws for Dream once again, he tells himself that, in the very least, he’s glad their deaths happened so swiftly.

This way, neither of them would have to feel any pain from Dream’s fourth failure.

* * *

“Yo Dream, there you are!”

“The alcohol is back there.”

Sapnap gives him a funny look. “Um… what?”

 _Oh_ , Dream realizes blankly, _I think I just did something out of order_. “Sorry, were you going to say something?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap rolls his eyes, pushing a flustered George forwards, “I just wanted to introduce you to George. You know, the guy I said I was bringing?”

“Oh… right.” Shit. Everything in his head was starting to get mixed up.

“George, say hi to Dream.”

“H-hi,” George obediently stumbles, his eyes large and fascinated as they dart around Dream’s features. Dream stares blankly, his mind tangled in knots, head still ringing a bit from their last death. Just why was George so _prone_ to dying? And how was Dream supposed to save him?

“Dream?” Sapnap prompts, starting to look worried.

Dream lets out a heavy breath, then extends a hand to shake. _Act normal_ , his brain chants, _don’t fuck shit up again_. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Uhm yeah,” George accepts his hand, and Dream feels inclined to hold on and never let go. “Nice to meet you too.”

_Why does this make him feel so tired?_

“I’ll leave you two to get to know each other, _and,”_ Sapnap grins, shooting Dream a knowing look, “I’ll go grab myself some of that alcohol now.”

“Have fun,” Dream sighs as Sapnap goes flying towards the kitchen.

“Umm Dream?” George starts, his face a flustered pink, “Your hand…”

Dream jolts a little, realizing he actually _hadn’t_ let go. He releases George from his grip, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “Sorry,” he apologizes. He is _so_ out of it. This was going to become an issue if Dream couldn’t get his head on straight.

“It’s okay,” George blinks, “I was just surprised, is all.”

“You should go after him,” Dream juts his chin out in the direction of the kitchen, “Tell Sapnap to lay off on the orange juice.”

“The orange juice…?”

“You’ll know when you see it,” Dream replies enigmatically. George casts him a wary look, ducking his head once in a quick farewell before scurrying off. Dream sets down his alcohol cup, having no intentions on drinking the rest. His head needs to be sharp for this. He needs to be as clear-headed as possible, to figure out exactly what it is he’s doing wrong, so that he can fix it.

He lets the rest of the night play out. Sapnap comes by once to check in on Dream, but that’s about the limit of their interactions. George can be seen several times ducking past people, magneted to the walls, making faces at the sight of grinding, twerking bodies. Dream still finds it endearing as hell, just how awkward and innocent George is.

Fuck. Dream sighs. He’s completely head over heels for him, isn’t he?

Because Dream is impatient (he’s waited this long already, hasn’t he? Surely that should constitute making an effort), he makes his way over to George before Sapnap has even started cartwheeling yet. “Hey.”

George jumps a little at his sudden appearance, his cheeks flaring pink. “Oh. Hi Dream.”

“Not gonna join—” No, wait. Wrong timeline. “Not a fan of parties?” Dream asks instead.

George twiddles his fingers, face pointedly turned away. Dream is tempted to kiss his perfect nails to get him to stop doing that. “Mhm.”

Because Dream already told himself he’d try to lay low this time around, he settles for touching George’s cheek instead, swiping his thumb painfully close to the edge of his mouth. “There was something there,” Dream lies at George’s wide-eyed expression. “I got it off.”

 _I need a restraining order_ , Dream thinks humorously to himself. Why can’t he keep his hands off of George?

“O-oh,” George stumbles, flustered, “thanks.”

Dream hums in response, trying to listen for the _Heat Waves_ song George had mentioned last time. It reverberates in the background, filling up the air around them, but Dream can’t hear the lyrics. It’s like his ears are filled with cotton — like he’s grown deaf to the world around him, voices and words muffled by the sound of glass breaking, metal creaking, George screaming, and blood splattering over and over and over and over again—

“Do you like parties?” George cuts Dream out of his thoughts.

Dream considers the question. Maybe he used to, maybe he liked feeling nothing, liked forgetting his head among these dancing people, liked the feeling of losing control over himself. But now? “No,” he answers honestly.

“Y-you don’t?” George raises an eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”

“I could ask the same for you,” Dream shoots back, even though he already knows the answer.

“I was _dragged_ here against my will.”

Dream only shrugs. “Me too.”

“Wait, really? By who?”

 _By the thread of fate_ , Dream considers answering. _By this monotonous repetition of the universe, so that I can try to save you._ You _, who I can never protect._

“It’s not important,” Dream answers instead.

George’s mouth quirks up in thought, but he doesn’t argue. “...okay.”

“Wanna get out of here?” Dream offers. “Since we both seem to hate parties so much.”

George lights up at the suggestion. “Where are we going?”

 _Wh… where?_ Dream wasn’t prepared for such a shift in events. “Um,” he stalls for time, racking his brain for an idea as he checks his watch. _11:32_ , it reads. Not midnight yet. Damn. “It’ll be a surprise.”

“A surprise,” George echoes. “Okay. As long as you’re not planning on kidnapping me.”

Dream chuckles. “Don’t give me any ideas,” he warns teasingly.

They make their way to Sapnap, inform him that they’re planning on leaving (“So soon?” “Yes.” “Fine… absquatulate.”), and get into Dream’s car. George hums appreciatively at the sleek convertible, hands roaming over the leather seats.

“It’s so cool that you own a convertible.”

Dream snorts. “You make it sound like you want one.”

George shoots him an indignant look. “Well, maybe I do.”

“What would you even do with it?”

“... _drive_ it?” George replies like it’s obvious, and Dream rolls his eyes.

“You can’t even dr—” he stops. Bites down on his tongue. _Oh my god_ , Dream sighs to himself. _Why am I such an idiot_.

“...what?”

“You… can’t even drive,” Dream repeats, knowing there’s no way of pretending his way out of this one.

Bewilderment crosses George’s features. “How’d you know…?”

“If you could drive, you wouldn’t have needed to wait for _me_ to give you a way out of that party.”

George crosses his arms in embarrassment, turning his head away. “Smart-ass,” he chucks out at Dream, and Dream lets out a small laugh of relief. _Saved it_ , he congratulates himself.

Dream drives aimlessly, without a particular destination in mind. It takes him a while to realize that he’s not anxious like he usually would be, sitting in a car with George by his side. He supposes it has something to do with knowing today is a safe day. This night, though dark and cold, was peaceful in Dream’s eyes, because Dream knows death has never happened this early on. It was a safety buffer, a moment of respite sandwiched between screams and gunshots.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

Dream lets out a breath of air, watches it fog up in front of him like smoke. “Yeah,” he breathes, “I know a place.”

“I’m really starting to think you might actually be a kidnapper.”

“If I were a stranger and I gave you a blue lollipop,” Dream teases, “Would you have followed me to my convertible?”

George hesitates, then proceeds to blush from the realization that he hesitated at all. _So pretty_ , Dream’s mind hums. “...no.”

“Very convincing,” Dream grins cheekily.

“I’m… I’m serious.”

“Such a child,” Dream tsks, “Getting roped into kidnappings from _lollipops_.”

“That’s—” George blushes harder, “That’s not it—”

“We’re here,” Dream announces suddenly, and George sits up straighter, as if trying to get a peek of what Dream has in store. 

“Where is _here?_ ”

“The best observation deck for miles around,” Dream answers vaguely, turning the vehicle into the building.

“...Did you drive us to a _parking garage?_ ”

“Yup.”

“You have a pretty messed up definition for _observation deck_ ,” George puts in quotation marks, and Dream gives a small wheeze in response.

“Just wait — you’ll see.”

After winding around maybe a dozen circles and ascending all the floors, they finally reach the top and the concrete ceiling is replaced with a blanket of stars. Dream stops the vehicle in the middle of the empty parking lot, gives George a smug look at his expression of awe. Dream walks around, opens the door for him like a true gentleman.

“Come on,” he invites, extending an arm, “Let’s sit over there.”

George visibly swallows, accepts his hand, and this time Dream doesn’t have to let go, excitedly dragging them to the edge of the lot. He plops himself down on the stout wall, legs dangling over empty air, pats the space next to him. George obediently sits down.

“Not so bad, right?”

“It’s okay,” George mumbles, but his expression gives away his wonder.

“A pretty good observation deck, yeah?”

“I guess,” George chuckles, and when Dream places his hand over George’s, he doesn’t move away.

“Are you glad I kidnapped you now?”

George giggles a little, squeezes his hand back. “I might be experiencing some Stockholm Syndrome,” he admits.

 _“̡D̶oes ̨t҉h͏at ҉mea͏n͏ y͡o̡u̢ hav͝e ̸St҉o͢c҉kho͜lm̢ ̢s̶y͠n̢d͟ro̸me̢?”_  
_͠_  
_“̨W͘h̡y w͞ou̢l̡d you_ s͢a̸y _t͡h͝a̴t͘.͏ ̢I ̴d̢ơ ҉_ not̕ _have Stoc̕khol̕m ͟s̛ynd͢ro͏m͠e͝.”_

Dream’s breath catches in his throat, trapped in George’s chocolate eyes: sweet, warm, melting. Dream is melting. “Huh,” he whispers, leaning closer, their faces inches apart, eyes darting over each other, time frozen in a standstill. George eyelashes flutter. He licks his lips, and Dream’s composure breaks.

He’s instantly pressing forward, fitting their lips together like missing puzzle pieces. George whines underneath him, their hands knit tightly together as Dream devours him, tastes every inch of George because he’s the sweetest thing Dream has ever had — because he’s the _prettiest_ thing Dream has ever seen, and Dream wants to protect that.

Dream wants to protect George, no matter what.

When they break apart after the first minute, Dream only gives George a second before he’s back on him again, fingers threading through his hair, tongues moving with ferocity. George groans into the kiss, his small hands gripping tightly onto Dream’s front, returning the affection with equal levels of eagerness. Dream is so buried in the scent of George, so mesmerized by the taste of him, that he accidentally knocks his hand against George’s sunglasses. They come toppling off his forehead, rolling down his legs.

They break apart. “Sorry—” Dream says, at the same time George says, “It’s okay—”

But in his haste to grab the glasses, they tumble through his fingers, sliding off of George’s knees. “ _Don’t_ —” Dream had begun to say, but it hadn’t been fast enough, because George is already reaching out, arms scrambling to snatch them mid-air, and the instant he shifts forward and clasps them in his hands, the world descends into slow motion once more.

A huge gust of wind catches them off-guard. Dream whips his arm out, catches George by the edge of his sweatshirt seconds before his free-fall, but it was the wrong choice to make. There’s a sound of tearing fabric, and as Dream scrambles to latch onto George, to grab something, _anything_ , Dream’s desperation pushes through, his common sense vanishing in a cloud of cold fog.

“ _DREAM—!”_

Dream wraps his arms around George, hugging them tightly together. But it’s a false sense of security, because suddenly they’re both falling, neither of them having any way of stopping their imminent death. George is staring up at Dream, wide-eyed and bewildered, a quiet _why?_ stuck between them as freezing wind whistles past their faces. Dream presses one last kiss to George’s cheek, whispers, “It’s okay. It’s okay—”

And then they hit the concrete, and Dream’s vision of red trickles back into darkness.

* * *

“Yo Dream, there you are!”

 _I’m losing it_ , Dream thinks to himself, whatever remaining composure he had sinking into his shoes, _I’m going to lose my fucking mind_.

“Dream,” Sapnap introduces, gesturing dramatically, “meet George. George, say hi to Dream.”

“H-hi,” George obediently stumbles, his eyes large and fascinated as they dart around Dream’s features, and suddenly Dream can’t hold it in anymore. His chest is heaving with grief, his heart is crumpling in on itself with the pain of losing George _five times_ now _._ Five _whole fucking times_.

“I-I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

George’s eyes widen. “Wh-what?”

“I’m s-sorry,” Dream grits his teeth, rubbing his palms over his eyes, but the tears are starting to come out and he can’t stop them no matter how hard he tries, “I’m sorry George, I’m s-so sorry, I didn’t— that I couldn’t—”

George casts Sapnap a bewildered look, looking very much at a loss of what to do. Sapnap only shrugs, appearing just as lost as him. “Probably just going through an emotional time,” Sapnap guesses. “Is it another breakup, Dream?”

Dream doesn’t answer. His chest is heaving and the words won’t come, covered with the aching sorrow of loss. George looks conflicted, hands awkwardly lifted like he wants to do something, but hasn’t quite committed to a choice yet. “Should I…?”

“You could just leave him be,” Sapnap recommends. “He’ll be calm within a few minutes, probably. Dream’s a tough guy. Wanna grab some drinks with me?”

“U-um… I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” Sapnap’s voice is already wandering away. Dream’s face is turned downwards, ugly tears falling off his chin. He can’t look up. He just _can’t_ — doesn’t want George to see him like this. Doesn’t want George to think he’s weak, that he’s unreliable, that he can’t _protect_ him.

“Are you… are you okay?” George’s timid voice slips through Dream’s haze, and when he doesn’t respond, George puts a comforting arm over him. “It’s okay to cry, um,” some awkward shuffling, “you don’t need to feel embarrassed by it. Crying is good. I cry sometimes too, when I need to.”

Through his tears, Dream lets out a small chuckle. “Really?”

“Y-yeah?”

Dream lets out a hollow breath, and finally the tears stop. It’s a relief. Dream knows George just said crying was okay, but it still doesn’t change the fact that he hates it when it happens. “What do you…” he gulps, wiping his cheeks dry, “what do you cry about?”

“Oh, it’s…” George bites his lip, looking uncomfortable. “It’s nothing like, break-ups, or whatever…”

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna say,” Dream chuckles, a pang going through his chest at the words he’s about to say: “We’ve only just met.”

George looks relieved. “Yeah,” he agrees, retrieving his arm. Dream’s back feels cold without it there. “Complete strangers.”

Dream sheepishly rubs his neck, the embarrassment of crying in front of George suddenly settling in. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “for that scene, it’s— it’s really unlike me, I don’t know what came over me.”

George blinks owlishly at him, a hint of a smile on his face. “It’s okay,” he reassures, an echo of Dream’s last words to him as they’d free-fallen through the air. Dream shivers. “Really, it’s okay.”


	5. C̶e̶l̶l̶o̶p̶h̶a̶n̶e̶

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is George to him? A friend? A lover? A fling? Or just someone Dream wants to protect? 
> 
> Was George someone Dream was willing to die for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶s̶t̶a̶u̶r̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶o̶b̶b̶e̶r̶y̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶d̶r̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶s̶t̶a̶u̶r̶a̶n̶t̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶e̶n̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶e̶y̶w̶a̶y̶s̶  
> • Don't make any moves before the second party  
> • Don't approach George too early

“You feeling any better now, Dream?”

Dream gives Sapnap a playful punch on the shoulder, for once thankful for the interruption. “No thanks to you. You left me!”

“But you recovered quickly enough, didn’t you?”

“Only ‘cause of George,” Dream retorts, giving him a grateful nudge with his shoulder. George’s cheeks blossom pink at the contact.

“N-no,” he mumbles, embarrassed, “I didn’t do anything, really.”

“Now that you’re feeling _loads_ better,” Sapnap quips, “Wanna grab another drink?

“I’ll pass,” Dream mutters, gently shoving George forwards. “Take George with you instead.”

“Good idea,” Sapnap smirks, tugging George to the kitchen.

“Talk to you later?” George calls over his shoulder, and Dream blinks in shock, surprised at the sudden offer. His words die on his tongue, and before he can get a response in, George has already disappeared around the corner.

Dream waits quietly for the rest of the party, making sure to not interact with George until midnight. It appears that George’s offer to talk later didn’t really matter, since Dream hadn’t warned him about the orange juice. Right on the dot, George is seen slumped over his usual couch, head lolling around on the cushion.

“Not a fan of parties?” Dream asks, leaning over George’s face.

George squints up at him, another pink flush crawling up his cheeks. “How’d you know?”

Dream gives a gentle wheeze. “George, one look at you and anyone could figure it out.”

George mumbles, clearly upset about the observation but unable to refute it. “Orange juice is stupid,” is all he says. Dream feels his insides wiggling with fondness, unable to help the affectionate huff that escapes his lips.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he offers. “Maybe a cup of water?”

George gives a feeble nod, and Dream is on his way. An encounter with some twerking individuals and two drunk girls later, he’s returned empty-handed. Not that it matters, since George is already fast asleep. _Cute_ , Dream observes, eyes scanning his surroundings for Sapnap. Just as expected, he’s already making his way over.

“Is he okay?”

“Probably just drank too much,” Dream explains. “Lightweight.”

“Of course he is,” Sapnap snorts.

“Can I take him home?”

Sapnap raises an eyebrow. “You want to?”

“Yup. Ready to call it a night, anyway. Might as well.”

“...okay, if you’re sure. I’ll text you his address.”

One repetitive car drive later, and they’re back at George’s place. Dream lets out a sigh of relief, soaking in the sight of George one last time before gently shaking him. “Hey, George?”

“Huh…?” George blinks awake, a dazed look clouding his features. “Where are we…?”

“At your apartment complex.”

George blinks, still looking confused. He turns left and right, taking in the sight of Dream’s car, slowly processing the view. “Did you… drive me back?”

“Yeah.” Dream helps George out of the car, trying not to let George realize he’s shaking. Dream’s nerves had been frayed the whole ride, now paranoid about everything that could go wrong. The last timeline was proof of that: anything that _could_ go wrong _would_ go wrong. And that now applied to their first day meeting, too. _No_ time was safe.

“Thank you,” George whispers. His cheeks are pink with color, and Dream now knows for sure that it can only be from blushing.

“It’s nothing,” Dream smiles. “Just consider it a thank you, for helping me out today.”

“Okay,” George hums, looking like he might just pass out any minute. 

“Go inside,” Dream nods towards the door, “Before you catch a cold.”

George opens the door as suggested, but instead of closing it immediately, he pauses at the doorway. “Do you…” he hesitates. “Do you wanna come in?”

Dream blinks, wondering if he’s hearing right. “...what?”

“N… nevermind,” George mumbles, his cheeks searing into a bright, red color. _Pretty, like a rose that never blooms._ “See you later?”

Dream is still at a loss for words. “I… yeah,” he replies lamely. George finally closes the door shut, and Dream can only stand there, his brain stuck at a dead-end, refusing to work. Why is so much different this time? Dream was almost certain he did everything the same as before. The whole _point_ had been to change as little as possible, to get rid of any unnecessary variables.

Dream closes his eyes, lets out a breath. _It’s fine_ , he reasons. _It’s just words — nothing actually_ major _has changed yet_.

And hopefully it was going to stay that way, because Dream isn’t planning on seeing George again. Dream _needs_ this to work, because it’s all he can think of. It _has_ to work, because if it didn’t… he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

* * *

『Unknown Number』 

Dream?

this is your number right?

I got it from Sapnap, I swear I’m not a stalker or anything o-o

* * *

『Unknown Number』

I just wanted to check in on you

I just thought maybe we could hang out someday?

if you want to

* * *

『Unknown Number』

it’s fine if you’re busy

at least let me know you’re doing okay

I’m honestly kind of worried about you

* * *

『Unknown Number』

are you ignoring me?

* * *

“Sapnap?” Dream frowns at the Caller ID, the eerie sound of the _Roxanne_ ringtone playing from his phone. Dream doesn’t know why he changed it to that song. Maybe because he hasn’t met George for days, hasn’t talked to him in forever, that his heart was starting to grow heavy with the loss. Even if it’s a shitty reminder of all the crap that’s happened, it’s still the only piece of George Dream has of him that _won’t_ disappear.

Dream recalls a specific string of words he had said long ago, when the two of them had been discussing George’s uncanny love for blue. _“This isn’t even about favorites anymore, George. I think you have an obsession._ ” Was it an understatement, then, to call George his favorite? Does Dream maybe have an obsession too? 

Dream shakes his head to clear away the memories that come after, promptly accepting the call. “Hey Sap—”

“Dream, have you heard anything from George recently?”

 _George_. Dream hasn’t heard that name in so long, he’s half-convinced he’s in a dream. “What do you mean?”

There’s a hint of panic in Sapnap’s voice that Dream doesn’t like. “I… I’ve tried calling him and messaging him, but he won’t respond. Last I heard, he said he was headed to your place. Is he not there right now?”

That’s when Dream begins to feel it: pure, unfiltered fear, rolling deep in his gut. “ _My_ place? How does he even know where I live?”

“...I gave him your address?”

“What?! _Why_.”

“He was asking for it, okay?! And for good reason too — how could you just _ignore_ all his texts, Dream? That’s really rude, even for you.”

“I—” Dream cuts himself off, not trusting himself to say anything un-incriminating. “Look, that’s not the issue right now. You said George isn’t answering any of your calls?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap confirms.

“For how long?”

“Maybe half a day?” Sapnap answers, and Dream’s already grabbing his keys, running to the door.

“Okay,” Dream lets out a shaky breath, shoves his phone into his pocket, fumbling to turn on his bike’s ignition. _Maybe George is fine_ , he wishes hopelessly, _Maybe he’s just taking his time getting here._ “Okay, I’m going to look for him.”

“Okay,” Sapnap echoes back. Neither of them hang up as Dream starts up his motorcycle, speeding down the street. All anxiety about possibly crashing has left Dream. All he cares about, all he can think about, is _George_.

 _Please be okay_ , Dream begs internally, _Please please please._

Dream takes the most obvious route to George’s apartment, eyes peeled for the familiar indigo sweatshirt. It’s dusk, almost night time. A few pedestrians are present on the sidewalks, but none of them are George. Dream speeds past them, heart hammering in his chest, fingers tapping anxiously on the wheel. A stoplight forces Dream’s vehicle to come to a halt.

“Do you see him anywhere?”

“No,” Dream grits his teeth, anxiously twisting his bike’s throttle when the light flicks green. “No sight of him.”

“He’s probably fine, right?” Sapnap’s nervous laughter fills the pensive silence, “He’s probably just lost, or something stupid like that.”

Dream doesn’t respond to the musing. “I’m almost at his place,” he announces, and it was at that very moment, the world froze and Dream saw it:

Police cars. Flashing red lights. Sirens. Officers yelling. Yellow warning tape. A misshapen car in the middle of the road. The world begins to thaw, everything suddenly rushing past fast, time rushing _too_ fast, and Dream can’t process it. His brain just doesn’t want to process it, the sight of the accident in front of him, the very real possibility of something he’s been trying to avoid sitting right in front of him like a mocking taunt.

“Dream?” Sapnap’s voice floats out, “Dream, do you see him? What’s—” a fearful silence. “Am I hearing… are those sirens?”

Dream has already fled his bike, is already running up to the warning tape, only to be stopped by the hand of an officer warning him not to get too close.

“Who is it?” Dream nearly shouts, “Who— who got hit?!”

The officer, looking shocked at Dream’s (probably correct) guess, raises his eyebrows in slight surprise. “How do you—”

“Please,” Dream whimpers, hands clenched at his sides, “Tell me. Did someone die?”

“Well, based off the ID we found in his wallet…”

A hesitant name falls from the officer’s lips, and Dream’s heart shatters. He falls to his knees, face buried in his hands, unable to believe it. _Refusing_ to believe it. “N-no, _no, no no no no_ —”

“Are you a friend of the victim?” the officer murmurs sadly. “I’m sorry. The ambulance did the best that they could, but they… it was too late.”

Dream doesn’t know what to do. He wants to unhear it, wants to unhear George’s name from the officer’s mouth. But the reality sits in him like a cold stone, hard and unbreakable. Dream feels himself hyperventilating. He’d tried _so_ hard to stay away, to prevent any of their dates from happening, and yet this still happened. George is _gone_. Dream had failed, _again_.

But the darkness isn’t coming. Dream waits and waits, crying his eyes out at the edge of the accident, but still time doesn’t go back. _Where’s the fucking reset?_ he screams in his head, _Why is this world making me suffer through this? Why can’t the pain just_ end _already?_

A hand appears on his shoulder. “Dream.”

For some reason, Dream thought it was George. He _hoped_ it was George. Maybe this would just end up being some sick joke. Maybe he wasn’t _actually_ dead. But when Dream looks up, he can only feel his shoulders slump. “S-Sapnap,” he croaks. Just how long had he been kneeling here for Sapnap to have come all the way out here?

“I can’t believe you just left me on the call by myself,” his friend states grimly, eyes trained sadly on the wreckage in front of them. “Is George really…?”

Dream nods. He thinks he sees Sapnap tear up a little, but he’s not sure. Sapnap helps him up, and for a while they just stand there, looking out over the red lights, the blaring sirens. After about a minute, Sapnap begins tugging on Dream’s sleeve, but Dream doesn’t budge.

“Dream. We should go.”

The tears don’t stop falling. They haven’t stopped for awhile now. “No.”

“Dream,” Sapnap chokes out. “Don’t do this right now. Please.”

Dream bites down on his tongue, and finally nods. He lets himself be tugged away, lets himself be taken far, far away from George, from the wreckage that was proof that he was unreliable. Useless. Unable to do a single thing, to protect those chocolate eyes that have only given him warmth and forgiveness.

Dream had failed. And this time, he wasn’t sure he’d be given a chance to fix it.

* * *

“This is your fault.”

Dream turns slowly, wondering if he’s hearing right. “Excuse me?”

Sapnap had been silent the entire ride, but now that they were miles away from the accident, he’s suddenly decided to speak up with words Dream can barely register. “He came to your house because you wouldn’t respond to his texts,” Sapnap continues, “If you’d only _talked_ to him like a _normal_ human being, he wouldn’t have _died_ —”

“I— you _gave_ him my address! How is this _my_ fault?!”

“He was _worried_ about you, Dream!” Sapnap snaps, “A-and I was, too! You can’t just fall into pieces and hole yourself up in your room and _not talk to anyone_ everytime you go through a fucking break up, you know?! If you just stopped being such a dramatic _idiot_ , George wouldn’t have felt the need to come over and check up on you—!”

“He had no _reason_ to come!” Dream snaps back, voice gradually growing with volume, “I gave him _absolutely zero reason_ to come check up on me. How the fuck was I supposed to know he’d _care_ enough to come running my way—”

“He’s just a _nice_ guy, Dream,” Sapnap growls. “Unlike _you_. He actually _cares_ about his friends and worries about them!”

“George isn’t—” Dream struggles to say the words. “I’m not George’s _friend_.” And he’d made sure of it, too. Then why _did_ George come running? What the _fuck_ had he been thinking? Why did he just have to keep getting himself _killed?_

“Well, maybe you _should’ve_ been,” Sapnap growls. “If maybe you actually looked around you for once and stopped only thinking about _yourself_ , you would’ve realized George is a great person and become friends with him, Dream!”

“Maybe,” Dream whispers, trying not to think too hard about all the alternate timelines, “But I’m _not_ his friend, Sapnap. And my answer still holds — he had no _business_ coming over to check up on me. And _you_ had no business giving out my address. Like seriously, what the _fuck_ , man.”

Sapnap gives a low chuckle. “You really almost got me there, with the waterworks,” he laughs meanly, “You almost made me think you actually _cared_. But no, who the fuck am I kidding? Only _I’m_ George’s friend. What were you even _crying_ for, Dream? Why get so heartbroken over someone who you can’t even call your _friend_ , huh?!”

“I—” Dream chokes on his words. What can he even say to that? “George is—” Who is George to him? A friend? A lover? A fling? Or just someone Dream wants to protect? 

Was George someone Dream was willing to die for?

“You can’t even say,” Sapnap bites, his tears finally flowing, and Dream feels his heart crack in two. “Because you don’t care. You’ve _never_ cared, have you, Dream?”

“Of course I have—”

“Shut _up_. I don’t— I can’t. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m leaving.”

“Sapnap—”

“If you _really_ care,” Sapnap snaps, “Then you’ll leave me be, and let me grieve in peace man. Just do what you do best, and stop talking to me.”

 _That’s not fair,_ Dream thinks to himself, as the door clicks closed behind Sapnap. _It’s not my fault I had to ignore George’s texts. It’s not my fault George came looking for me. It’s not my fault George got my address._

Except, it _was_ Dream’s fault. In every sense of the word, it was Dream’s fault. He could’ve prevented this. He could’ve saved George. He’s had six chances to do it, and he failed all six times. Sapnap was right, in the end — George’s death was Dream’s fault.

After a minute of thinking to himself, Dream goes back outside. Gets back into his car, starts the engine, begins to drive. He knows exactly where he needs to go, knows exactly what it is that he needs to do. As the world approaches midnight, Dream turns himself into an all-too-familiar parking garage, speeding back up the dozens of levels. When he reaches the top, he removes the key and grabs his phone, making one last phone call.

He doesn’t pick up the first time. When Dream dials it again though, Sapnap finally answers the call. “I thought I told you not to talk to me—”

“Sapnap,” Dream cuts in. “I do care.”

“...what?”

Dream stands on the stout wall of the outer edge, looking down at the dizzying drop below him. “I care, Sapnap. I care, so _fucking_ much that it hurts. And I’m sorry— that I made you think I don’t. That my decisions are what’s making us go through this, that I…” a gulp, “I caused his death.”

For a moment, the receiver goes silent. “...I’m sorry too,” Sapnap eventually replies, “For blowing up on you, and saying all those shitty things. It’s _not_ your fault Dream, I just… I’m just so _pissed_ right now, you know? I don’t… I just don’t know what to do with myself.”

Dream takes a deep breath. He recalls a time when he wished these repetitions would stop, and he knows he could have that now, put all this bullshit to an end if he so chooses. But… “Sapnap,” he promises, “I’m going to fix this.”

“...what?” There’s audible confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll save George,” Dream breathes, because he’s made his choice. “No matter what, no matter how many times it takes, I’m going to protect him.”

“Um… Dream?? What are you _talking_ about?”

“I figured out who George is to me,” Dream continues, closing his eyes. Not a friend. Not a lover. Not a fling. He lets his hand fall to his side. “He’s someone I’d die for.”

“Dream? _Dream?!”_ Sapnap’s voice grows panicked over the receiver. “What are you doing? Where are you right now?”

“I’m coming, George,” Dream whispers, takes a step off the edge.

“ _DREAM!”_

And then he’s plummeting, the phone falling out of his grip, wind whistling past his ears. For a second, Dream felt that fear of death again. The ground is rushing towards him too fast, and Dream shuts his eyes tight, preparing himself for the collision when—

 _Crack._ A searing pain, and then nothingness as his world fades to black.


	6. D̶e̶a̶d̶ ̶C̶h̶i̶v̶a̶l̶r̶y̶

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you don’t like parties?”
> 
> George frowns at the accusation. “When did I ever say that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶s̶t̶a̶u̶r̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶o̶b̶b̶e̶r̶y̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶d̶r̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶s̶t̶a̶u̶r̶a̶n̶t̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶e̶n̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶e̶y̶w̶a̶y̶s̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶m̶o̶v̶e̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶e̶c̶o̶n̶d̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶t̶y̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶a̶p̶p̶r̶o̶a̶c̶h̶ ̶G̶e̶o̶r̶g̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶ ̶e̶a̶r̶l̶y̶  
> • Show up to the second party

Dream’s eyes flew to him the moment he entered the party.

Soft eyes and shy smile, a pair of dorky white-rimmed sunglasses perched on his perfect forehead, nestled between strands of inky-brown hair. George slowly raked his gaze past the party’s attendants, and when their eyes met Dream’s heart stuttered. The reaction from the opposite party was similar: cheeks dusted pink and, mouth slightly parted, George had quickly averted his eyes, looking embarrassed. 

Dream only has eyes for George, glued to his target. He continues to watch with unrestrained interest as Sapnap tugs him through the crowd, his friend’s eyes lighting up upon seeing Dream.

“Yo Dream, there you are!”

“Sapnap,” Dream greets only for a second, his attention quickly turned away to the much more important target: “George.”

George jolts from Dream’s direct greeting, making a confused noise in the back of his throat. Sapnap only laughs. “Well, you guessed it! George, say hi to Dream.”

“H-hi,” George greets obediently, his eyes darting around Dream’s features in a manner akin to wonderment. Dream quietly offers his hand and, when George accepts it, he brings it up to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it. _Warm_ , Dream thinks to himself. _Alive._

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, George.”

Pink bursts across George’s cheeks. “U-UHM??” he stutters in flustered disbelief.

“Wow,” Sapnap chortles in laughter. “Nice going, Dream. The chivalrous path is definitely the way to go.”

“Chivalrous path,” George repeats quietly, still looking hopelessly bemused.

“Annnd I’m just gonna leave you two to get to know each other. Can you point me to the drinks, Dream?” Dream obediently points and Sapnap goes flying to the kitchen. “Thanks, Dream!”

George is staring at his hand like it’s been blessed with holy water or something. “Do you… normally greet people like this?” he squeaks out.

“Nah,” Dream smiles, “Only for the pretty ones.”

George blushes profusely, hand flying up to his face to hide what Dream guesses must be a smile. He’s glad to see that his pick-up-lines still have his desired effect on George, since it’s clear at this point that he can’t just leave George alone, lest he wants another untimely death on his hands. It was almost concerning really, that George couldn’t live even a week on his own without running himself into some sort of trouble.

“Pretty,” George repeats, sounding a little shocked, “You think I’m pretty.”

“Yeah,” Dream sips absentmindedly, “Why so surprised?”

“You’re joking.”

“No,” Dream chuckles, “I’m not. Don’t tell me no one’s ever told you?”

“Of course not,” George mumbles, face still wildly pink, “Only— well, _Sapnap’s_ said that to me, but it’s… it’s obvious he’s joking.”

Dream glowers into his cup, muttering, “this isn’t even about computer science.”

“What?”

The interruption arrives right on time. “So, how’re the introductions getting along?!”

“Just fine,” Dream smirks, elbowing Sapnap to push him off of them. When his friend giggles at the gesture, Dream just rolls his eyes. “And you’re already drunk, Sap.”

“...no, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not! George, back me up here.”

“You totally are,” George inserts, and Sapnap groans.

“Okay… maybe just a little. But what’s a party if you don’t live a little?”

“S- _Sapnap_ ,” George yelps as Sapnap tugs on him, “where are you taking me—?”

“To the _drinks!”_ Sapnap cheers, already dragging George away. “Let’s _loosen up_ in here!”

“Watch out for the orange juice!” Dream calls after them, and then they’re gone. Dream

lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He’s resolved now: one last time, he was going to try this path. No ignoring George. No avoiding their meetings. Dream is gonna let everything play out, and he’s just gonna have to hope that he can see the threats before they come and put a stop to them.

Time ticks away. Soon Sapnap has taken his position in the living room and George is sitting on his respective cushion. Dream checks the time periodically and, only when it’s finally midnight, does he stride over to him.

“Yo.”

George looks up, ears tinted pink. “Oh, hey.”

Dream uses his arms to prop himself on the backrest. “You look pretty lonely here by yourself.”

“Well,” George shrugs, eyes turned away, “I guess I’m not anymore.”

“You’re welcome,” Dream swipes cheekily.

“Is this, uh, also part of the chivalrous act or...?”

Dream chuckles, shrugs. “Maybe. Do you want it to be?”

“Hm…” Then almost like a lightbulb’s gone off in his head, “You drove here, right?”

Dream already knows where this is going. “Yep.”

“Then…” George continues, an eyebrow daringly raised. “How would you feel about your chivalrous-self giving me a ride home...?”

Dream’s nerves are sizzling. “Now?”

“Yes.”

Dream presses his lips together, holding back a smile. “But what if I don’t wanna go yet? Why leave early just for you?”

“B-because,” George stutters, “you’re such a _gentleman_ , right? Unless you want to tell me chivalry is dead now?”

“You got me there,” Dream laughs, offers a hand. “C’mon then.”

“Oh...” George blinks, as if he hadn’t really expected Dream to cave in. “Wait. Really?”

“Yeah,” Dream huffs softly, fondness leaking through his tone, “Let me be your knight in shining armor.”

* * *

“I thought you don’t like parties?”

George frowns at the accusation. “When did I ever say that?”

Dream inhales. He’s still doing pretty shit at this whole timeline-resetting thing. “You didn’t say it. But I could tell.”

George reverts to mumbling to himself, looking embarrassed as usual. “Is it that obvious?”

A shrug. “Well, I haven’t seen you drinking or dancing — those are kind of must-haves in the partying fun-pack.”

An awkward silence descends over them, but Dream doesn’t mind it too much. His ears tingle from the sound of _Roxanne_ playing from the speakers, his heart thumping in rhythm to its lyrics. _Still too repetitive,_ Dream figures — that much hasn’t changed. But it’s been awhile since he was last here, so Dream feels a little nostalgic about it. Maybe he even feels a bit inclined to believe he had started to miss it.

“There’s another one,” George blurts suddenly, “that you’re forgetting.”

Dream blinks, tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“The must-haves, for the partying fun-pack.”

“Oh,” Dream raises an eyebrow, wondering where this is going. “What is it?”

“The…” George blushes, “the flirting path.”

Dream feels his own cheeks warm at George’s attempt. “Yeah?” He murmurs, “who’re you planning on flirting with?”

George appears to be summoning his courage, straightening his shoulders. “F-from a one out of ten,” he says slowly, eyes nervously flickering to Dream, “I’d give you… a nine.”

Blinking. “Oh,” Dream mumbles. Was it stupid of him, to feel disappointed? It wasn’t a bad try, but why give a score under max if you were going for a pick-up line? It would make more sense to say eleven out of ten, just to play to the part of boosting the other party’s ego. 

But maybe George was going for honesty, or something. Dream wasn’t sure what to feel about that.

“A _nine_ out of _ten_ ,” George repeats, looking oddly expectant, “Because I’m the _one_ you need.”

It takes Dream second, but then he gets it, a flush crawling up his cheeks as a stupid smile overcomes his face. “Oh my god,” he laughs. Holy shit. His stupid heart is soaring from some stupid pick-up line and _wow_. This should not feel _that_ good.

George beams. “Was that good?”

Dream smirks, decides he ought to return the favor. “Knock knock.”

“Oh no,” George giggles. “Who’s there?”

“Aisle of.”

A flash of slight confusion. _Good_ , Dream thinks, _he hasn’t heard this one before_. “Aisle of… who?”

“I think…” Dream breathes, “I think _aisle of_ you.”

George’s mouth falls open with dumbfounded surprise, cheeks instantly the color of a cherry. And when Dream draws close, stroking the side of George’s face with his thumb, he doesn’t move away, his eyes still filled with star-struck amazement.

“You’re really good at pick-up lines,” George mumbles, and Dream chuckles.

“Kiss me if I’m wrong,” Dream continues the trend, a smile tugging on his face, “but dinosaurs still exist, right?”

A beat of silence. “...actually, birds can be considered—”

“George,” Dream warns, and George laughs and cranes his neck upwards, and then Dream is slotting their mouths together, locking their bodies together in a gentle but passionate kiss. When Dream’s tongue swipes across George’s soft lips, he can feel his boyfriend shudder underneath him.

When they break apart, Dream’s already prepared for his next line: “I seem to have forgotten my number — can I have yours?”

“You’re… _oh my god_ ,” an embarrassed laugh, “you’re so _dumb_.”

“I’m _on a roll_ ,” Dream corrects cheekily. “Looks like you were right, George — flirting _is_ part of the partying fun-pack.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop when we finally get out of here?” George asks hopefully, and Dream just grins.

“I dunno,” he whistles innocently, “Maybe.”

* * *

『 _Dream_ 』

hey, you want a raisin?

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

what??

『 _Dream_ 』

answer the question

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

i dunno… ig not

『 _Dream_ 』

okay, what about a date?

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

...omg T//T

i thought we agreed you were going to stop

『 _Dream_ 』

when did I ever agree to that

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

prick

『 _Dream_ 』

haha

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

so tmrw?

『 _Dream_ 』

nah, I’m busy then

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

ok… then when?

『 _Dream_ 』

dunno, not sure yet

I’ll let you know when I have time

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

k

* * *

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』 

any updates?

『 _Dream_ 』

wtf

it’s been ONE DAY George

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』 

i knowww

but i wanna see you

『 _Dream_ 』

just be patient

please

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

okay T_T

what are you even doing??

『 _Dream_ 』

just… things

* * *

『 _Dream_ 』

Is your daddy a baker?

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』 

what?

『 _Dream_ 』

because you’ve got nice buns, hun

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』 

what

WHAT

DREAM

WTF

『 _Dream_ 』 

lmaooooooo

* * *

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』 

Are you a wheat field?

『 _Dream_ 』

?

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』 

because I’m stalking you

『 _Dream_ 』

?????

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

lol jk jk

was that too much?

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

Dream?

are you still there?

『 _Dream_ 』

oh yeah 

I just got distracted by something

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』 

oh okay

are we gonna have that date you promised anytime soon? (´｡• ω •｡`)

『 _Dream_ 』

George

『 _Georgilicious🍫_ 』

what

『 _Dream_ 』

how do you feel about me coming over to your place?

* * *

So, it looked like this was going to be Dream’s solution.

He didn’t really have much of a choice. Leaving George unattended just wasn’t an option, not to mention that his latest text almost gave Dream a heart attack. Dream can _not_ risk George thinking he needs to make another trip to his place to check up on him. (With his history, he’d probably just get hit by a car again.) But with George’s incessant requests for meeting up, they were treading dreadfully close to that line, and Dream finally had to throw the “just avoid having a date” solution out the window. 

So the new solution was this: have a date at George’s apartment. No car rides required, no walking, no meeting at a suspicious restaurant. It couldn’t get any safer than this, Dream reckoned. So, mind made up, he’d made plans with George, and his boyfriend was surprisingly compliant with the whole idea, so. Looks like they were going to meet up.

Dream would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little excited. It’s not like he _wanted_ to be apart from his boyfriend. If anything, Dream was _dying_ to have George in his arms again. The dumb chocolate emoji he’d added next to George’s contact was also a constant reminder of the chocolate eyes he couldn’t visit. Now, Dream could finally be a little selfish.

On the day of, Dream’s chest is humming with butterflies. He makes a quick detour at a convenience store to obtain a box of chocolates as a gift (he really couldn’t help himself) before driving to George’s apartment. His insides are tingling with excitement, his anticipation laced with happiness for once. Dream actually let himself hope, actually thought to himself: _everything’s going to be fine._

But he shouldn’t have. Dream really, _really_ shouldn’t have.

Because as he draws closer to his destination, he begins to smell it: _smoke_. Not the barbecue sort of smoke, nor the cigarette type of smoke, but the burning, charred smell of wood. Dream’s heart begins to hammer and his lungs constrict with fear, his foot pressing down harder to accelerate the car. 

Dream doesn’t want to connect the dots, doesn’t want to accept what’s happening, but that was getting pretty hard to do when Dream’s route was only making the smell of smoke _stronger._

_There’s no way,_ Dream thinks to himself, _it can’t be._

Except, Dream’s car is right in front of George’s apartment complex now — and it’s burning.

Huge, angry flames cover the entire building, licking against the black walls, the charred doors, the falling-apart railings. The stench of smoke is stifling. There’s no sign of any firefighters yet, but a crowd of evacuated residents are waiting in the parking lot, some sobbing, others chattering worriedly into their phones. Dream glances over them for a sign of George, but somehow he already knew: George wasn’t going to be there.

He would have to be _inside_ the building, the most dangerous location, because Dream has lived far too many resets not to have learned by now that George is a _magnet_ for danger. 

And without a second thought, Dream is running towards the fire. Even though it’s probably a shit idea, even if he has no idea what he’s doing, Dream doesn’t care. A couple people are yelling at him but Dream doesn’t hear them over the thudding of his heart, his head screaming at him to find George, to save him, to hold him.

He can feel the heat already, but if Dream moves quickly enough, he thinks he can probably just glide through the flames. His feet are flying up the stairs, but one particular board has gone weak and cracks when his foot comes into contact with it. Dream stumbles briefly, but he’s already picked himself back up, resuming his mad dash, jumping through flames that keep trying to take him down.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dream hisses when the edge of his shirt catches fire, patting it ferociously to try to get it to die off while maintaining his speed. He can hardly see shit — everything’s so fucking _smoky._ Why the fuck didn’t this place install sprinklers? 

A huge portion of the second floor’s overhang suddenly collapses in front of Dream, nearly crushing him. Dream makes a hasty swerve around it and, after hopping over another messy pile of wood, Dream’s made it to George’s front door.

“ _GEORGE!_ ” Dream calls out, ramming his shoulder into the door. It gives way easily, the hinges weakened by the flames. Dream coughs a little from the smoke, his throat burning. The chemicals in the air have grown thicker, and Dream hastily covers his mouth with his sleeve, trying his best not to breathe it in.

The sight before him is nothing short of hell. Dream realizes faintly that the fire here is actually strongest, covering every inch and surface of the room. It’s almost like the fire _started_ here. It’s almost as if George _caused_ the fire.

 _But of course he did_ , Dream thinks bitterly, _George can’t go a week without putting himself in a life-threatening situation._

“George!” Dream calls out again, takes his first step into the room, coughing his way through the hell-fire. It’s too hard to walk — there’s flames literally _everywhere_. His forehead is clammy with sweat, the haze of the heat making Dream’s vision sway. “George?!”

He’s just about to give up, to think to himself _there’s no way I can go any further than this,_ that Dream sees the arm. It’s on the ground, poking out from (what Dream guesses is) the kitchen.

And Dream’s running straight through fire, to get to George.

Everything is too hot, too painful, too hard to breathe. Dream can only act on pure adrenaline now. The kitchen looks like absolute chaos, like something _exploded_ in here. Dream inhales at the sight of George, who miraculously hasn’t been crushed by falling debris yet, makes to carry him but—

Lifeless. Dream tries again, presses fingers to his throat, presses his ear to his chest, and there’s still nothing. Dream’s heart sinks.

The world is burning. Dream watches with resigned silence as their only exit falls apart, and then he’s officially trapped. Some of the kitchen has been spared for now because of the tiles, but Dream knew that wouldn’t last long.

And he also didn’t care.

Dream tugs George close to him, finally lets himself breathe, and he _hates_ it. He always hates it, how much death hurts, how awful it is to have to keep seeing George die uselessly like this, all the while knowing that _he_ was to blame for it. 

If only Dream weren’t so hopelessly worthless, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Dream’s wonders where it all went wrong. Had he been too selfish for wanting to see George? Had he been too careless in watching George’s movements? Had he been too dismissive, in believing things couldn’t deteriorate further?

The flames are licking closer, but Dream already knows he’s going to die from excessive inhalation of smoke first. _Maybe it’ll be better if I’m knocked out,_ Dream thinks, closing his eyes, _Maybe it’ll hurt less._

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, a phone’s ringtone is playing.

_🎵Roxanne, Roxanne, all she wanna do is party all night🎵_

Dream doesn’t have anything to say for himself. He _knew_ the risks of meeting with George again, yet he had still hoped in vain that he could have him, that this route may be possible. He was such an idiot.

_🎵Roxanne, Roxanne🎵_

_This was just one last try anyway_ , Dream thinks. He already knows what it is he needs to do, though he’s been trying to avoid it with all his power. One look at all the causes of their deaths, and it was obvious: Dream wasn’t supposed to meet up with George. Their threads of fate tangled together only always results in unavoidable death. They just weren’t _allowed_ to be with each other.

_🎵She think I’m an asshole, she think I’m a player🎵_

_🎵She keep running back though, only ‘cause I pay up🎵_

Dream shuts his eyes, quietly resigns himself. Even if it tears his heart in two, this was the path he must take. No matter how pretty George is, no matter how blushy his cheeks are, Dream can _not_ tie himself to George this time. No matter what. Because this isn’t about Dream. It doesn’t matter what Dream wants.

This was all for George.

_🎵Roxanne, Roxanne🎵_

_🎵Never gonna love me but it’s alright🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the bad puns.


	7. Highlight Reel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have we met before?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My longest chapter yet! This is the point where I'd suggest you read "Mirage" before continuing, since it'll help fill up some of the unexplained holes in this. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶s̶t̶a̶u̶r̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶o̶b̶b̶e̶r̶y̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶d̶r̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶s̶t̶a̶u̶r̶a̶n̶t̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶e̶n̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶e̶y̶w̶a̶y̶s̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶m̶o̶v̶e̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶e̶c̶o̶n̶d̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶t̶y̶  
> • D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶a̶p̶p̶r̶o̶a̶c̶h̶ ̶G̶e̶o̶r̶g̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶ ̶e̶a̶r̶l̶y̶ just don't approach him  
> • S̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶u̶p̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶e̶c̶o̶n̶d̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶t̶y̶  
> • S̶t̶o̶p̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶i̶r̶e̶

“Have we met before?” 

Dream’s head snaps over at the words. “What?” he echoes breathlessly. Did George remember the previous timelines? Was something about these repetitions finally going to change?

“You…” George visibly squirms, and the action makes Dream’s heart tremble, “You look like you hate me. Did I ever do something to you?”

Dream feels his hopes sink away. _You stole my heart,_ he considers saying, _You’re literally impossible to protect. You put me through so much grief, time and time again, because you can’t stop dying._

But Dream doesn’t say anything. He can only close his eyes and control his breathing, reminding himself to not lose focus of his goal: that he can _not_ , under any circumstances, pursue George’s affections.

The moment Sapnap returns and drags George away, Dream is the first one out of the party.

* * *

“Get in.”

“What?”

Dream had been scared out of his wits for the entire day. He’d waited next to that skyscraper, making sure to keep track of when the construction accident would happen, except… it never did. It was actually incredibly concerning, that the one day Dream and George chose not to walk underneath it, the accident appeared to have no intention on occuring. It left Dream paranoid, wondering if it wasn’t a matter of _when_ , but rather a matter of _time_.

It was almost as if the universe were _aiming_ to get George killed.

“You’re going to the party aren’t you?” Dream prompts. He hadn’t planned for this, had originally intended to just meet George at the party like he usually did. (Not going wasn’t a choice, as evidenced by previous failure. Dream doesn’t know exactly why the lack of his presence ruins the entire timeline, but he could care less about finding the reason.) 

“But… are you sure?”

“ _Just get in the car,_ ” Dream commands, not even trying to hide his demanding tone. Dream can’t trust George to not accidentally walk himself underneath another fucking construction site, so giving him a ride was just the easiest way to avoid it.

George seems partially paralyzed from Dream’s attitude, but he nods nonetheless, and Dream does his best not to show his relief too clearly.

“How did you know?” At Dream’s hum of confusion, George reiterates, “How did you know where I was going?”

Oh shit. How _was_ Dream supposed to know that? “Because,” he stalls, trying to think of some half-assed reason to blow George off his trail, and somehow ends up blurting, “I know you love parties.”

 _“T͞h̵o͏ught̡ you̵ d͢i̸d͠n̵’̷t ͘li̕ke part͜ie̛s͏?”̴  
_ _̢“͞I͡ don’t,”̧ Ge͟orge̸ ͏c҉onfirms̛.͘_  
_͝_  
_̕“Y̡ou͘ d̷r̶ank̡ t̵o͘o̕ m̷u̢çh̢,”̧ Dr̸eam̧ g̴ue͝s̸s̨e̕s̕ bl͝u̵n͢tl̷y͠,҉ ͜and̵ Ge͝or̷ģe g͟ro̷a͟n̴s._  
_͢_ _“I͝ ̡hate̵ parti̸es,҉” ̸he̛ ̨mu͟mb̸les҉._

“...I don’t though?”

 _“̴Nơt re͠ally̧ a pa̕r̷t̵y͠ guy,̨ hu͡h͠?”̵  
_ _͡“͡Don̶’t͝ ͞l̸ikę ҉pa̴rt͝ie̕s͝,͏”͏ ̵G̶e̵o͝r͠g͘e ͟a҉f̢f̧i͘rms.̧_

 _“͠N͝ot ͟a fan҉ of͜ part͜ie̸s?” Dream as̡ks͏,͝ le̢a̸n̷in̛g̨ o̴ver Ge͢orge’s fac̷e._  
_͡_ _G̢eorge̕ ͝s͡quints̵ ųp҉ a̡t him. ̨“H͠o҉w’͢ḑ yo̡u know҉?”_

Dream sinks into his seat. “I know,” he says. It was a joke. Because he really, truly knew all too well.

* * *

“You’re Fundy, right?”

The lanky man perks up at the sound of his name, raising a hand in greeting. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Dream can’t believe he’s about to do this. But it needs to be done, if he wants to keep George away from him. “I’ve been keeping my eye on you,” he mutters, feeling his insides roil with guilt. It just feels so _wrong_ to be doing this to someone that isn’t George. 

Fundy looks surprised, maybe a bit confused. “W-why?”

“Because,” Dream whispers, propping an arm on the wall behind him, purposefully roving his eyes up and down, “It’s impossible to keep my eyes off you.”

Fundy’s cheeks blush bright red, but even still, all Dream can think about is how much prettier it’d be if it were George instead. “ _Oh_ ,” Fundy breathes, looking completely star-struck. “You don’t mean…?”

Dream gives his trademark grin, the one that he knows is capable of making girls faint from just a single glance. “I think that I like you.”

Fundy’s eyes travel down to Dream’s lips. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Dream lies, and when Fundy presses forward, he lets himself be kissed, lets a foreign person’s lips touch his, even though he _loathes_ it, even though all he wants is to be kissed by George, by George, by _George._

 _Roxanne_ is playing in the background, and it sends a bitter taste into Dream’s mouth, makes him hate the song with a burning passion, that it’s forcing him to have to resort to _this_ , to shoving his tongue down someone else’s throat when he should be having _George_ , should be threading his hands through George’s blueberry clothes instead of this _stranger’s_.

 _But this is all for George anyway,_ Dream thinks, so he allows himself to lose. He’ll lose everything if it means he can protect George.

“You’re a very good kisser,” Fundy remarks after they break apart, a sunny smile on his face, and Dream almost feels bad for leading him on. His determination to protect George outweighs the guilt, though.

“I’ve had lots of practice,” Dream mumbles, and though he’d intended it to mean his kisses with George, it takes him a second to realize that to anyone else, he just made himself sound like a player.

Fundy doesn’t seem to mind though, giggling at Dream’s words. “Can I have your number?” he asks.

“Sure,” Dream says, because he can’t say no. They spend a couple more minutes chattering about meaningless things, and Dream needs to force himself to keep touching Fundy to keep up with the act, even if the very thought of touching anyone other than George repelled him.

“Are you okay?”

Dream blinks, wonders if he did something wrong. “What?”

“You look distracted,” Fundy observes worriedly.

And Dream _is_ distracted, because around this time, he knows George would’ve come looking for him. And yet no matter where he looks, there is just no sight of the boy and his dorky glasses. “I’m fine,” Dream lies, asks, “Would you like me to grab us some drinks?”

Without waiting for an answer, Dream is rushing to the kitchen. His eyes dart around the rooms, scanning for the iconic indigo and blue, but it’s nowhere to be seen. Something is tingling under his skin, telling Dream that something is very, _very_ wrong. He taps someone on the shoulder, some cyan guy with an undercut, asks, “Hey, have you recently seen anyone with an indigo sweatshirt around here? He has like, these stupid, white sunglasses on his head.”

The guy shakes his head, but the thin-spectacled man standing next to him lights up in recognition. “Yeah! I saw him leaving about ten minutes ago.”

Dream’s heart shrivels up. _Fuck_. “Thanks,” he manages to stumble out, already rushing out of the party, fumbling to get his keys into his car’s ignition.

 _Please don’t let me be too late,_ he begs, _please please_ please _be safe, George._

* * *

“You are SO STUPID. I leave you for _one_ second and you—” Dream facepalms, hoping it’s enough to hide the expression on his face because he’s not supposed to give away that he _cares_ about George, but _holy shit._ “ _Fuck_ George, why did you _leave?_ Why didn’t you let me drive you back?”

And then Dream is getting pushed away. “You looked busy,” George replies curtly, head turned away, and Dream immediately understands.

“Busy,” he repeats. The guilt is back, swirling in his gut like a dark vortex.

“Yeah,” George confirms, walking a few paces away to pick up his glasses. Dream frowns at the action, an image of those stupid spectacles flashing in his mind completely unasked for—

 _"_ Don’t— _” Bu̶t Geo̧rg̶e͝ is͟ a̢l͜rea͠d͠y ͠r̴eachin͜g ͠o̷ut, ̛a͡rm̷s͞ sc͠r͘a̛mb̢lin͠g͏ ͠t̸o sn͟a̡tch̛ t̶he glasses̛ m͞id̕-̛air͠—͞_  
_̡_ _“͟DRE̢AM—!͞”_  
_̡_ _D͜rea̵m̛ w̸ra͝ps his ̕a̷rms̵ ̶a͟ro͞u̢nd G̢e͜ơrge, hug͡gi̕n͡g ͘th͟e͜m͘ ̶t̷ig͞ht̨l̛y҉ ͡t͟o̷get̶h͝e̢r, ͝a͡n̵d s̸u͝dd̡e͞nly ţhe̡y’̛r͟e b͡o͟t͟h̶ ͏f͏a̕l͞l̴in͢g̷,̨ ̸a̛nd ͡George̵ i̵s͞ ͡st̷ar̛i̴ng̛ up at͠ Dr̨eam҉,͝ wid̶e̶-ey͠ed and̡ ̵bewildere̡d̛,͞ a q̛u̕iet͡ w͡h͠y?̷ ̢s͜tucķ ̵b̴etwee͘n̶ ̴t̵h͘em̨ ͜as ̵fre̢eziņg wind ͢whi̧st͝les past͠ t̛h̶ei̧r ͜fac̴e̷s._  
_̸_ _D҉r҉ea̡m presse̴s͟ o̵ne ̵l̛as͝t ̢k҉i͢ss to ͏Geo̵rge’̛s͘ ͏ch͞ee̷k̨,̡ ͘wh̷i̸sp̴e͏r͟s,͘ ͝“̴It͏’͏s̨ ơkay̢. I͡t’s ok̷ay—”_

“...you are so immature,” Dream snorts, forcibly erasing the memory from his head. Thinking about it just makes his head spin. “What does it matter to you who I flirt with?”

“It… doesn’t,” George lies, but the blossom of blush on his cheeks gives him away. Because even now, even when Dream had exactly _zero_ romantic undertones to his actions, George still felt inclined to like him.

Dream would’ve felt honored, if he weren’t so dead-set on pushing George away.

“You could at least thank me for rescuing your ass.”

“...Thanks,” George obediently replies, albeit nervously. “Really. Thank you.”

“Just don’t make this a habit,” Dream warns, with every ounce of seriousness, but because George thinks he’s only kidding, he responds with a fake “ha-ha.”

_🎵All for the gram🎵_

_🎵Bitches love the gram🎵_

Dream flinches at the opening sound of _Roxanne_ and fumbles for his phone. A glance at the caller ID confirms that Fundy is calling him (no doubt wondering where he’s disappeared off to). With a hint of finality, Dream declines the call and the song of _Roxanne_ is cut short.

 _One death avoided_ , he thinks determinedly to himself, _now just a million more to go._

* * *

It’s only when Dream has successfully sent George home that he remembers he’s not supposed to know his address.

He’d originally wanted to avoid tying Sapnap into all this in order to further keep his distance from George, but… if he wanted to avoid suspicion, there’d be no other way around it.

『 _Dream_ 』

hey Sap

what’s George address

『 _Sappity Nappity_ 』

y u askin

『 _Dream_ 』

driving him home

from a party, if you’re wondering

『 _Sappity Nappity_ 』

WHAT

NO WAY

Dream snickers at Sapnap’s reaction, flicking over to the clock app on his phone to set up alarms for the several disasters Dream can predict. Today had been _way_ too close, and Dream had barely been able to keep George safe like he had promised. He could no longer slack off on this — if he wanted to keep George alive, then he was going to need to _actively_ make sure of it.

* * *

George is still wide-eyed as he takes his seat on the passenger side, even though the car is comparably less flashy to Dream’s usual style. He had purposefully strayed away from the convertible this time, for safety purposes. _It’s just in case_ , he reassures himself. _It’s not like we’ll_ actually _get into a car crash this time._

“I’m not sure I like how easily Sapnap’s giving away all my personal information,” is George’s first words, “First my address, and now my phone number too?”

 _“̶I͜f ͞y͟ou̷’̧d͡ ̴onl͝y͢ t̸a͜l̨ked to h͞i̷m̢ ͝l͏i͠k͝e a n͡o͏r͞ma͡l̢ hu̕man b͘e͘i̶n͘g,̡ ḩe̶ ͘wo͏uld͝n’͏t͢ ͏h͝av҉e d̡i͞ed—”̶_  
_͝_ _̛“I͝— you̴ ҉_ g҉ave͝ ̸ _h͘im̨ ̸my ̶a͞dd̵ress̢! ͠H̴ow̷ ͝i̸s ̡thi͏s_ m̸y _fa҉ult?!͟”_

“Believe me,” Dream snorts, his heart squeezing with regret, “I don’t either.”

“Oh.”

Silence blankets them, which Dream is fine with. The less they talk, the less attached they’ll both be, and the more Dream can concentrate on the road and minimize mistakes. Intending to fill up the quiet with something, Dream moves to turn on the radio, aimlessly switching through music channels until he suddenly hears _the song_ and he freezes.

“Oh wow,” George chuckles, having noticed the lyrics as well, “What are the chances?”

 _This again_ , Dream starts to panic, eyes flying around the intersection. Whenever _Roxanne_ starts to play unprompted, it was usually a sign that something was about to go horribly wrong. Dream isn’t sure yet if it’s simply a continuous coincidence or a conditioned stimulus the universe actually planned just to haunt Dream with, but the connection was nonetheless there.

“Um,” George starts timidly, “Why are you so anxious?”

Dream is mildly surprised — he hadn’t known his anxiety was that obvious. “Bad memories,” is his answer. It’s not a lie, technically.

“Have you been in a car crash before or something?” The guess hits the spot so accurately that Dream is shocked into silence. “Did… someone die?”

_Images of their car skidding across the street, the smell of charred rubber, the sight of flashing red lights and scarlet blood pooling on the ground…_

Dream shuts his eyes. “...yeah,” he breathes. _You died_.

“Oh.” A beat of silence. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” Dream sighs, trying to forget it all, to wipe the long-gone memory from his head. It’s all in the past now. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

* * *

“I’ll get—“

“He’ll have the blueberry waffles,” Dream interrupts, and when George sends him a bewildered look, Dream pretends to ignore it. “And that’ll be all.”

“Alright, and one blueberry waffle. Your order will be ready in around five minutes.”

“Thank you.” Dream has been avoiding looking at George for the whole day so far, but even in his peripherals he can see the annoyed expression on George’s face. “What’s with the look?” he asks innocently, knowing full well that he hadn’t given George any time to survey the menu, “Didn’t we already establish that I’d know what’s best to order?”

George looks like he wants to say something, and Dream is honestly kind of curious as to what. But instead of saying what’s clearly on his mind, he blurts, “We’re not even eating breakfast.” 

_“G͞e̸or͜ge̷,”͘ D̕r̶e̢am̢ la͏ug̷hs,̶ ͏“͠W̕e̸’͝re ͞no͞t̴ ͢ęating ̵_ bre͘akf̵ast̵.̶ _”͟_  
_“̕S͜o?̵ Y͟ou̵ s̷ai̵d͞ e̡v͞er҉y̸t̛hing h̵ere’̷s g̸ood.”_

Dream laughs humorlessly at the irony of the situation. Fucking hell. “You’re the worst,” he mutters, knowing full well George would have no idea what he’s talking about.

* * *

“Why won’t you look at me?”

_“H͜e̷y͢,” ͟h͟e st͡a̡rts, softens ҉hi̛s̸ v͞o͟ice.̕ “Wh͠y̷ w͢o̢n̡’t yo͢u͜ ̸look͟ at҉ ҉m̶ę?”_  
_A͏t ͠th͜e͝ pr̢om̴p͢t̢,̴ ͞Geor̴ge loơks. ̷B͡u͘t al͝m̛o͡st͟ ̧im̡m҉e̴d͏i̷a̛te̷l͡y, a ̵flustered e̛x͏p҉re͜ss̶io҉n ͞f̴a̶l͘l̴s͘ ov̧e̡r̛ ͞his ex̷p͘ressio͢ņ.̶_  
_̡“I— ̸um.̶” ͞He ne͢r͡v͢o͜u͏s͞l͟y ͟bit̷es͝ his͟ ͞l͏ip͡. ̕D͜r̛eam̨ ͡wa̸n͟t͠s̶ to ̷bi̛te it̸ too͜. ̷“I dunno?͜”̡_

And Dream was too busy feeling happy, so relieved by the perfect lunch devoid of incident, that he let his guard down and fell for it. He fell for the quietness, the twinge of _want_ in George’s voice, and he had looked. And what he saw — those always pink cheeks, those soft eyes framed by long eyelashes, the pretty strands of his hair always perfectly layered atop his forehead — it was enough to make unbridled heat rise up to Dream’s face.

 _I don’t look at you_ , Dream considers answering, _Because I know that if I did, I’d never be able to look away_.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is what he says instead. He knows his face is probably burning, but he can’t shove it away no matter how hard he tries, because why the _fuck_ is George so goddamn _pretty_.

It just wasn’t _fair._

“You’re a tsundere,” George blurts, and Dream feels himself freeze. _Shit_.

“ _No,_ ” Dream denies instantly, feels the panic rising in his chest. George isn’t supposed to think that — George isn’t supposed to _know_ that. “No,” he repeats, as if it somehow solidifies the statement. As if it makes it more true.

But George isn’t falling for any of it. “Then what _was_ this, Dream? Why did you take me to your favorite restaurant, give me a ride in your fancy car, and pay for the entire thing? Tell me… tell me how this is _not_ a date.”

And this is where Dream realized he fucked up. This hangout was just an excuse to delay George’s restaurant visit by a day, but now Dream had inadvertently convinced George that it was something _more_.

“It’s… it’s not,” he insists, hoping George will believe him. “How many times do I have to tell you — money isn’t a problem for me, George. I have tons of it, okay? Me paying for you doesn’t mean anything more than… what you’re thinking.”

“This isn’t an issue of my _wallet_ , it’s about you willingly paying for me—”

“Oh _sure_ it’s not,” Dream feels himself sniping before he can stop himself, “Like you don’t have any attachment issues with it.”

“Attach… what? I’m not _attached_ to my wallet. What does that even _mean_.”

That day in the alleyway comes flashing back, and Dream grits his teeth defiantly. “So if I took it from you right now, you wouldn’t care?”

“I… of _course_ I’d care, what do you—”

“See? That’s an attachment.”

“Th-that’s…” George sounds defeated, his voice taking on an edge of hurt. “It’s not like that, I just… I have _important_ things in there, okay?”

 _“Wh̕y ̸d̡o͢ ҉yo͡u̶ c͢are ҉s͏o̶ ҉m͘uch ̸ab̧o̷ut͟ s͢o͘me͜ ̶s͡tup̕id͡_ c҉ash? _I h̶a̢ve ҉_ ple̕nt͡y _o͠f it—̨”_  
_͘_ _“̸It̶’s ̨n̨ot abou̧t t҉he ̶_ mǫne̢y̴ _,͟ D̡rea҉m҉,͠ I ḩave͜_ i̷mpo͘ŗtan͢t _t͞hi̷ngs͘ in there—̴”_

“...yeah,” Dream lets out a sigh, realizing it’d be pointless to argue, especially if George’s responses were still going to be the same. “Look, let’s just get back to the point. I took you out today because you said you wanted to go, and for no other reason. It’s as simple as that.”

“Yeah, I wanted to go, _yesterday_. And I could’ve come myself, but you _insisted_ on taking me.”

“I’m being _nice,_ ” Dream retorts, and reusing the same excuse, “because you’re Sapnap’s friend.”

But this time, George seems to catch Dream on his lie. “It can’t just be because of that.”

Dream hits the brakes, much more harshly than he needed to. “Don’t make up things that aren’t there,” He hisses, internally begging that George will understand and stop pushing the subject. “This was _not_ a date.”

“Yeah? Look at me when you say it.”

It’s a challenge — and Dream isn’t sure he can win against it. Dream feels his blood boiling, his hands on fire as they grip the wheel, his head screaming at him to grab George and just _kiss him senseless_. “Get out.”

“What?” _Please get out of here_ , Dream feels himself chanting, _before I lose control of myself and do something I’ll regret_. “No, not until you look at me and say—”

“ _George_ ,” Dream looks, and by some goddamn miracle, despite his raging love for George (or maybe _because_ of it), he manages to keep his gaze steady. “It was not a date.”

“...oh.” Dream watches as disappointment sinks into his expression, and his heart twists with sympathy at the sight of it. _I don’t want to hurt you_ , Dream thinks frustratedly, _But I have to do this. I don’t have any other choice._

“Now get out.”

George bites his lip, and just that is enough for Dream to lose all composure, all the blood inside of him rushing straight to his face. _Fuck_ , he thinks to himself, covers his mouth with one hand. _Fuck_.

Thankfully, George isn’t looking. “ _Fine_ ,” he snaps, and just like that he’s gone, leaving only a mixture of relief and disappointment swirling in Dream's gut.

* * *

“Why are _you_ _here?_ ”

“Sapnap told me to come,” Dream lies, averting his eyes in the hopes he won’t give himself away. “He wants me to make sure you don’t burn the whole place down.”

Dream waits for it, for George to catch him in the lie. But, “You could’ve at least warned me you were coming,” is all George says, and Dream lets out an internal sigh of relief.

“No time,” Dream lies again, stepping into George’s apartment. It looks exactly like how he remembers it, just a lot less… burny. “Sapnap made it sound pretty urgent.”

“Sapnap is _so_ dramatic. Why couldn’t he just come himself?”

“Busy,” Dream shrugs, suspiciously eyeing all the appliances in George’s kitchen. He _knows_ something here caused the fire in the last timeline, but the problem was just that he didn’t know _what._ “What’re you making?”

“Haven’t decided yet. I was just about to go out to buy ingredients and figure it out on the way.”

Dream feels himself freeze. _Shit,_ _George is going to go outside?_ His brain is already recalling the timeline where he’d avoided all of George’s texts, only to be met with the sight of police cars and ambulance vans swarming the street. He can _not_ let that happen again.

Dream realizes George is waiting for a response, so he buries his concerns for now and asks, “What are the options you’re deciding between?”

George’s ears turn pink, and Dream has a pretty good guess on what he’s thinking of. “I _said,_ I’m going to figure it out.”

“If you’re lost on what to do, I can give you some recommendations,” Dream offers, sifting through his drawers. There’s barely _anything_ — Dream finds a spatula and a box of utensils, but that’s about it. “You’ve never cooked a day in your life, have you?”

“Sapnap sent you to _help,_ ” he pouts, “not to _insult_ me.” 

_Cute_ , Dream almost says, just to prove George wrong, but he holds his tongue. They exchange a few more words, and Dream’s heart drops into his shoes when George suddenly starts heading for the front door.

“Let’s go then— _Dream_.”

Dream has held one of George’s shoes hostage with his superior height, his brain racking for excuses to convince George not to step outside. “You don’t need to go,” he says, albeit unconvincingly, “Just send me — I can buy the stuff we need.”

“Dream,” George interrupts jokingly, “You aren’t afraid of me burning my apartment down?”

Dream pauses, realizes: _actually… that’s true._ George would be in danger whether he was indoors _or_ outdoors. Left alone, there was no _guessing_ what sort of shit he could come up with to kill himself. Wouldn’t it be better then, if Dream just always kept an eye on him?

“ _...fine,_ ” Dream relents. “We go together.”

* * *

“What would I have to do to get that package?”

Dream shuts his eyes, knowing where this is going. “George.”

“C’mon, tell me the truth: what do you think of me?”

 _That you’re a shitty cook_ , Dream’s brain offers. _And you have the worst fashion sense, and you can’t even drive, and you make crappy decisions, and you’re literally colorblind and have this weird obsession with blue and yet—_

_Why can’t I dislike you?_

“Nothing,” Dream replies, but even he knows he didn’t sound believable.

“You’re obviously lying.”

“Am I?” Dream denies, because he has no choice but to deny.

George suddenly moans and Dream snaps his eyes wide open. The other’s eyelids are half-closed, cheeks flushed pink with color, making obscene sounds from the back of his throat as his jaws work to chew the chocolate. George’s tongue flashes out for a second, swiping over his lower lip, and Dream feels something grow in his chest, something hot and guttural.

“Stop it,” Dream squeaks, but George has the audacity to _laugh_.

“Stop what?”

“You know what I mean,” Dream growls, his heart convulsing helplessly in his chest, “Stop doing _that_.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Dream confiscates George’s chocolate before he can play more tricks on him. He’s treading on a thin wire here — if George does anything more to him, he just might trip and fall, and there'd be no getting back up. “You’re being an idiot — just stop it.”

“Then _make_ me.”

 _“N̢o, ͠r͞ea̴ll͟y! ̷You̡’ve͝ s͡ţo̷l͢e̶n̡ m̶y ͟hea͡rt̨, ͘Georg̢i̴e.͡”_  
_“Don͡’̸t ̨ca̡ll͜ ͟me ̨th̷at.”_  
_̛“M̛ay̕be҉ ͡if̶ ͠yo͟u ̛g̷i̕ve ͞m͝ȩ ̴my̢ h̸e͡a̶r͞t ba͠ck.̵”͡_  
_G̨eo̸r͠ge giggl͜e͡s̷. “_ M̶ak̢e _̕m͜e.”͢_

George bites his lip, and Dream suddenly forgets where he is. The parallels were crashing into each other and his soul is throbbing, completely captured in George’s gaze. All he sees and feels is George, _George George George,_ staring at him through his pretty eyelashes, cheeks dusted the prettiest pink, pink lips waiting to be kissed, to be tasted, to be _taken,_ and all Dream needed to do was lean forward and close the distance between them—

_🎵All for the gram🎵_

_🎵Bitches love the gram🎵_

And that’s all it takes for Dream to snap out of it. In one motion, he’s shoved George far away from him, the beginning of _Roxanne_ filling the empty void from the space created between them. “ _No_ George,” he says, his voice shaking. _Fuck_. That had been so close. He’d almost failed, almost forgotten his goal. “We can’t.”

“ _..._ what?” George reaches for him, clutches onto his hand, and it takes all of Dream’s willpower to tear his hand away. “ _Dream_ , I don’t… I don’t _understand_.”

“You don’t need to understand,” Dream breathes, shutting off the alarm on his phone. _You’ve gotten this far_ , he reminds himself, _Don’t fuck it up now._ “I said _no_ , George.”

George looks hurt, and Dream feels guilt spike through his heart for only a moment before George launches into rambling: “Maybe you’re verbally saying no. Maybe you don’t want to admit it to yourself, but I can _see_ it Dream, I’m not fucking _blind_. Because I— I _want_ you, Dream. And I _know_ you want me too.”

 _What?_ “How can you—” Shit. _No._ This can't be happening right now. “You do _not_ know that. I haven’t _done anything_ for you to say that.”

“You saved me, from the face of _death_ , Dream, and you’re always looking out for me, you’re always kind even if you act like it’s nothing, and you’re always _way_ too overprotective for someone who tries to pretend he doesn’t care—”

“Protectiveness and love aren’t the same thing,” Dream snaps. It was meant to be a lie, but it doesn’t feel Iike one, because Dream knows: he can’t do both. One can’t exist while the other does as well. Dream can feel his pulse in his palms, feel it pounding against his wrists as he fumbles to get his shoes on. He _needs_ to get out of here, he needs to leave before things get worse— 

“I don’t care.”

Dream whirls on him. “You don’t _care?_ ” 

George looks so serious that Dream is momentarily stilled. “You don’t have to love me. I know it’s not really your thing, to be permanently attached to someone, and I’m okay with that. I don’t _care_ if I’m not permanent Dream, I just— I don’t _care_ if you’re a player. I literally don’t care. I just want _you_.”

A heavy weight falls over them. Dream wonders if the shock shows on his face, wonders where it all went wrong, wonders why George is _like_ this, wonders wonders _wonders_ , because he doesn’t know what the _fuck_ to do. What the hell is he _supposed_ to do, in a situation like this?

He could let George win. He could take one step back in and crush their lips together, and it wouldn’t take even half a second because Dream _wants to,_ fuck, he wants to _so badly._

He could apologize and lie, politely declining George’s affection for him and continue to play along with this little charade of being just friends, a constant tease of push-and-pull.

Or he could correct George, say _How could you THINK that, you’re not just a FLING George, you’re so much MORE than that, so so SO much more, because you’re someone I would DIE for._

But, maybe it was for that very reason that Dream chose to do what he did.

“Goodbye George,” is all he says, because it’s the right thing to say. “Don’t let the ratatouille burn.”

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, and Dream realizes he’s being an idiot.

He’s been a mess ever since he left George’s apartment, curled up on his bed and screaming into his hands, trying in vain to quell the thundering of his heart, the images of George’s pretty face flashing behind his eyelids. But Dream knows now that he’s being an idiot, because this isn’t about _him,_ it’s never been about _him,_ he should be out there protecting _George_.

And he can’t protect George while he’s like this.

So Dream swallows his fears, hops on his bike, and drives his way back to George’s place. Now wasn’t the time to be slacking off — rather, _because_ Dream doesn’t know what’s coming next, he needs to be more vigilant than ever. To check up on George, he’s already got an excuse ready that he’s going back for his phone. Dream was fine.

The plan was still fine.

Except, once Dream is standing in front of George’s apartment, he can see that the door was left slightly ajar.

Dream immediately stumbles in, his brain on rapid-fire mode, wondering _Is George okay? Did a thief break in? Did I fuck up this time too?_ But the apartment is empty, and all the lights are off. Nothing looks out of place either — so not a robbery. “George?” He calls out, but as expected, there’s no response; he must not be home right now. So did he just forget to close his front door? Dream flicks on a lightswitch, and when his eyes adjust, he sees his phone sitting on a chair right next to the doorway, as if it had been waiting for him.

Dream snorts, thinks, _Did George put that there? That’s so dumb_ — when the phone suddenly lights up, and Dream freezes, a drip of ice cold fear crawling down his spine as he hears the start of the all-too-familiar song:

_🎵All for the gram🎵_

_🎵Bitches love the gram🎵_

...Dream didn’t set that alarm.

He narrows his eyes, the gears in his head turning at full power. Is he forgetting something? He prevented the metal-bars accident, avoided the restaurant robbery, stopped the alleyway incident, the car crash, the pedestrian accident, and even lived through the day of the fire. 

What was he forgetting?

Suddenly it clicks, and Dream is scrambling out of the apartment, not even bothering to close the door, running on full auto-pilot as he hops onto his motorcycle and starts driving. His heart is thudding with anxiety, and he needs to force his shaking hands to be steady as he steers his bike. 

Dream knows exactly where he needs to go.

He can only hope he makes it in time.

Within a few minutes’ time, and the dreaded parking garage appears before Dream like a haunting nightmare. Once he’s close enough he leaps off his bike and runs for the stairs, because running would be faster, and Dream needs to _hurry_ because somehow he knows:

He’s almost out of time.

Dream can’t feel his lungs by the time he makes it to the top. A light rain had begun to fall, and now exposed to the sky again, Dream feels the water pitter-patter on his skin. A swerve of his head later confirms his guess, and when he sees the unmistakable back of George sitting at the edge of the parking lot, the air around Dream stills.

Everything moves in slow-motion: George’s leg swinging over, the glasses coming dislodged, the thuds of Dream’s shoes hitting the ground as he runs, George’s arm outstretched—

 _Not this again,_ Dream pleads, _No no no no no please please PLEASE—_

And then Dream crashes into George, and his chest _explodes_ with relief, from the feeling of his arms wrapped around George, and this time the security is _real_. “ _George,_ ” he whimpers, and suddenly all the stress and anxiety and fear of all the timelines come crashing down all at once and Dream finally breaks down, broken into pieces, sobbing into George’s jacket.

“...Dream?” 

“George, _George._ ” Dream hugs him tighter, unconsciously tugging him to safety, “I’m so sorry George, I thought you— I _almost_ didn’t save you, I almost _failed_ you, I’m such a fucking idiot, I-I’m so sorry, I‘m—”

“ _Dream?_ What are you…?”

“It’s all my fault, that you almost— if only I watched you better, if only I didn’t _leave_ you, you wouldn’t have, _shit_ , this wouldn’t have—“

“Dream, _Dream,_ ” George cuts him off, his words muffled by the sound of rain hitting the concrete. “You’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

“I almost _lost_ you,” Dream whispers, and something seems to register in George's expression.

“Dream, I’m—“ George squeezes him back, a hopelessly confused look on his face, lets Dream bury himself in him, “I’m _alive,_ Dream, it’s… it’s _okay_.”

“You don’t— you don’t _understand,_ ” Dream shudders, holding on tightly to George, as if letting go would be the equivalent of letting him die again. “You’re _always_ in danger George, but I… I can _never_ protect you, a-and you always…”

“But I feel safe because of you,” George reassures gently, “Look, I’m not in danger right now, am I?”

The words are like a sweet wave of relief. George isn’t in danger. George is safe. Dream takes several deep breaths, repeating the words in his head like a broken record. “You’re fine,” Dream reiterates.

And like an echo, “I’m fine.”

His heartbeat calms down some. “Okay,” Dream wipes away his tears, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed, “Thank you, I’m… I’m okay now.”

George’s gaze is calculating, like he’s trying to figure Dream out. “Let’s get out of this rain first,” he suggests. “It’s _freezing._ ”

Dream has to agree — he can feel his teeth starting to chatter. Maybe having an emotional moment in the middle of a downpour wasn’t his best idea yet. “Yeah let’s… let’s do that.”

“Don’t think I’m letting you off — you’re gonna have to answer a _lot_ of questions.”

Dream is momentarily taken aback by the directness. “I-I don’t think we should…”

“ _Dream_.” George looks at him, his brown eyes filled with determination. “Don’t baby me — just tell me the truth. I want to hear everything, I… I want to _understand._ ”

Dream had been prepared to refuse, but something about the way George asked, something about the way Dream just suddenly feels so _tired_ of pretending, so _scared_ of being afraid, makes him give in. “It’s going to be a long story,” he warns.

“Well,” George hums, blinking dewdrops out of his pretty eyelashes, “We’ll have all of waiting for this storm to blow over to hear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want a concise breakdown of all the events and the days they occur? Well lucky for you, you can find that right [here](https://peppdream.tumblr.com/post/642954627108765696/heres-a-day-for-day-summary-of-the-things-that) :D
> 
> Also more fabulous art for this chapter (I'm gonna cry it's so beautiful)  
> ❤️ alphabettea - [Ignis](https://peppdream.tumblr.com/post/644614919198851072/more-i-offer-more-fanart-it-was-supposed-to-be)


	8. Serendipity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re probably really confused, huh?”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> A light laugh comes through the receiver. “You did it, Dream. It’s over now.”

“Are you scared?”

Dream wasn’t sure how well George would take the news. Would he freak out at the truth? Would he even believe it? Dream feels bare, everything about them now laid out and open for George to pick at it, but throughout the story, he’s mostly been silent and contemplative. Dream is unsure whether that’s a good or bad sign.

George hums in response to Dream’s question. “No,” he eventually answers, slumping his shoulders, “I’m… actually relieved.”

“You… huh?”

“Your story,” George continues, glancing thoughtfully at the trickling rain outside the parking garage. It’s significantly lessened compared to half an hour ago, only producing a lulling hum to the background of their conversation. “It explains a lot of things. Clears up a lot of confusion.”

“You believe me.”

“Sort of,” George compromises, seesawing his hand. “It’s still a bit hard to wrap my head around, but I know you’re not lying.”

“You were always like that,” Dream chuckles. 

“Like what?”

“Able to tell when I was lying.”

George looks pleasantly surprised that he got an answer. Dream gets it — he’s been incredibly vague for quite a while now. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“This must be really weird for you too,” George extrapolates, worrying his lip with his teeth. “Are you scared?”

Dream feels the question sink into his chest, and he lets out a shaky breath. “Terrified.”

“Even though I’m not in danger anymore…?”

“Maybe not now,” Dream admits. He thought he’d feel better after sharing his story, but letting George in on the secret didn’t change much about their situation. George was still in danger, still very well _could_ die. “But this is as far as I know. You’ve never lived this long before George, I don’t… I don’t know what comes next. And I’m terrified of fucking it all up.”

George doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. “So… what now?” he asks quietly. “What changes?”

“Honestly?” Dream sighs, “Nothing. That’s the best case scenario.”

“You… you can’t seriously mean that.”

“ _George,_ ” Dream groans, balls up his fists inside his jacket pockets, “We— we _can’t_ be together.”

“But you’re the reason I haven’t—”

“Yeah,” Dream mutters, shutting his eyes, “I’m the reason you haven’t died, _yet_.”

“I don’t get it,” George mumbles. “Why am I not allowed to get close to you?”

To that, Dream asks, “Why did you go to that party, George?”

George blinks, makes an embarrassed stutter. “W-well…”

“What made you choose to visit that restaurant?”

“Uhm…”

“What spurred you to suddenly start cooking?”

“O-okay, _okay_ , I _get_ it. I get it.” George lets out an exasperated sigh, dragging his hands down his face (probably to hide his pretty blush). “But that’s… those are just dumb coincidences, aren’t they?”

Dream bites his lip. “What if they’re not?”

_Would you be willing to risk it?_

George seems to hear the silent question, because he doesn’t answer straightaway, a conflicted expression falling over his face. “This sucks.”

The pitter-pattering has stopped. Dream peeks out of the garage, realizes the rain has stopped and that they can go home now. “It’s just how it is,” Dream replies. “You understand, right?”

He needs George to understand. Dream told his story, spilled his woes, and now the facts were laid out and all George needed to do was agree. All he needed to do was to stay in line with Dream’s plans and everything would be fine.

“I guess I do,” George mumbles wistfully, “but it doesn’t mean I like it. Is there really no other way?”

Dream wishes there was, that he could promise George a ‘maybe’, or that he could at least depart with one last goodbye kiss. But to instigate something now would only weaken Dream’s resolve. “There isn’t,” he confirms, even if it wrenches his heart to admit it.

Dream wheels his bike from the parking garage and George follows, their shoes splashing through shallow puddles. “Sorry,” Dream says, knowing he can’t give George a ride home. Too risky. “You know…”

“It’s okay,” George shrugs, “I can walk. It’ll give me time to think about… stuff.”

Dream nods curtly. “...stay safe, George.”

George offers a weak smile. “I-I’ll try,” he answers.

“Goodbye, George.”

“B-bye… Dream.”

And Dream revs his engine on and makes the action of driving off. He looks behind him once, sees George bending over the ground to pick something up. And then he’s walking, back turned.

(And Dream, from a sizable distance away, follows until he gets safely home.)

* * *

『 _George_ 』

Are you sure you aren’t the wheat field?

The question sends a confused twist and tingle into Dream’s chest. Bewilderment, reminiscence, and delight mixed into one confusing mess of emotions as Dream tries to piece together how he feels about this. Did George not get the message, that they weren’t supposed to interact with each other? 

After much debating, Dream doesn’t reply to the text.

* * *

_He hasn’t left his apartment,_ Dream ponders. _That’s good_.

For the past few hours, he’s been keeping an eye on George’s apartment complex, maybe a little bit paranoid about dangers he now can’t foresee, maybe a little too attentive to the possible re-emergence of Roxanne from his phone. It makes him think about George’s last text, which is admittedly more grating than he expected.

 _I’m not stalking him_ , Dream glowers to himself, _I’m just checking that he’s alive._

Though, Dream had to admit just awkwardly standing outside wasn’t doing him any good. For all he knows, George could’ve already choked to death from a glass of water or electrocuted himself while pulling a plug, and Dream would have no idea. It wasn’t the most reassuring thought.

_🎵All for the gram🎵_

_🎵Bitches love the gram🎵_

And suddenly Dream’s feet are flying up the stairs, his knuckles knocking against George’s door, yelling, “ _George? George!”_

He’s greeted with silence, and the anxiety is suddenly mounting again, a flurry of panic overtaking Dream’s entire body. _Shit,_ he thinks, _Shit, fuck, no, please please no no no not this again please PLEASE PLEASE—_

“ _GEORGE!”_ He calls out louder this time, now banging against the door. _Fuck_ , should he just charge in? Maybe he wasn’t dead yet and Dream was just wasting time by standing out here doing nothing—

The door suddenly swings open. Dream blinks at the sight of a sleepy-looking George on the other side, his eyes widening when he sees Dream. The two are locked into an awkward staring contest, silence filled by the sound of Dream’s ringtone still going off.

George speaks up first. “Dream?”

“You’re okay?” Dream blurts, feeling like his heart is rocketing out of his ribcage from relief. “You’re fine?”

“I was sleeping,” George mumbles, rubbing one of his eyes. Dream notices it now, how he’s still dressed in striped, blue jammies. _Cute_ , his brain offers. “Why’re you here?”

“I thought you…” Dream’s words die on his tongue. He can’t say the rest of the sentence.

“The song,” George recognizes, and Dream gives a feeble nod. “You going to answer it?”

Dream slips the phone into his hand, pausing when he sees the contact name. It’s one he doesn’t recognize — doesn’t remember manually entering it, either. Like his thumb is possessed, it moves to the answer call button and Dream brings it up to his ear. “Hello?” he starts.

“Hi,” the male voice on the other end greets back. It sounds vaguely familiar, but Dream can’t quite touch on where he’s heard it. “You’re probably really confused, huh?”

“What?”

A light laugh comes through the receiver. “You did it, Dream! It’s over now.”

The words send Dream’s heartbeat back into a crazed frenzy. “You—” Dream sucks in a breath of air, “how do you know my name?”

George gives him a concerned look, but Dream ignores him as he waits for his answer.

“We have a lot to talk about,” the caller avoids the question. “Should we meet up sometime? I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

Despite how vague the stranger’s words were, Dream immediately knew: it was about the time loops surrounding George. How this man knew about it, and how _much_ he knew about it, Dream couldn’t be sure. Even if this stranger was a friend or foe, Dream didn’t know. But answers… Dream needed answers, more than anything.

“Yes,” he agrees through gritted teeth. “Let’s meet up.”

“Great!” the other hums in contentment. “Just make sure to bring George along too.”

Dream takes in George’s worried expression, asks cautiously, “You won’t hurt him?”

“What?” There’s genuine surprise there. “No no, of course not. We’re just going to talk.”

“...okay,” Dream relents, swallows. “I’ll make sure he comes.”

* * *

“So we’re here to meet up with a _complete_ stranger that just _randomly_ called you and only _seems_ to know about the time loops,” George summarizes incredulously.

They had made it to the front of a nice-looking, one-story house without any incident (which Dream seriously considered a miracle). It appears cute and cozy from the outside, pretty flowers dotting the front yard and a magnificent pink willow tree growing in the center of it. It’s so innocent, _too_ innocent, that Dream half wonders if they’re in the wrong place.

“The contact name was ‘Bad’,” Dream supplies. Kind of ominous, if he’s being real. “I don't remember inputting it though — it’s too suspicious not to check out.”

“Bad?” George echoes. “Like, the adjective?”

“I guess so,” Dream shrugs, starting down the path to Bad’s front door. 

George trails after him, eyes glancing over the neat garden. “Something about this place feels off.”

“The blue flowers rubbing you the wrong way?”

A frown. “Well, no, I like the color—”

“I know, George,” Dream sighs. “I know.”

“Oh.” George sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I forget, that you already know stuff about me…”

Dream’s hands are sweaty. He’s nervous, as he gingerly presses the doorbell button. A pretty chime emanates, and not even a second later, the door is swinging open.

“Hey guys!” Bad greets (and Dream knows it’s him, because the voice is the same as the caller’s), giving them a welcome smile. “Don’t just stand there, come on in!”

A sweet scent wafts out of the pretty house. “Are you baking something?” George asks, to which Bad vigorously nods.

“Blueberry muffins,” he confirms happily, “just for my guests, fresh from the oven!”

“Blueberry,” Dream repeats with a snicker, and George elbows him in the side. “Please, lead the way.”

The hospitality is unexpected. Dream thought their meeting would be a top-secret, shady assembly, held in some sort of dark, locked-door interrogation room. This is the complete opposite, really: a well-furnished interior decorated with clean surfaces, potted plants, and the occasional crude painting of what Dream guesses is Bad and a cyan friend of his.

Seeing the pictures sparks something in the back of Dream’s mind. Back at that second party, when he’d asked around for George’s whereabouts… “Wait, aren’t you…?!”

“You remember me now?” Bad laughs, though not unkindly. They’ve made it to the kitchen, and the scent of warm muffins is stronger than ever, a perfect tray of them sitting on the counter. “It was really brief, so I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize me straight away.”

“You two know each other?” George prompts, his eyes darting very obviously to the muffins. Bad seems to notice, because he takes one out of the tray and offers it.

“Not really,” Dream answers as he takes a seat, amused at George’s eagerness to consume the pastry. So much for the place ‘feeling off.’ Dream would’ve normally stopped him, but he remembers Bad’s promise of not harming George and just trusts the muffins aren’t secretly poisoned. “Let’s just get straight to the point — why did you call us here?”

“Real impatient, aren’t you?” Bad huffs. “And I haven’t even properly introduced myself yet!” Dream sighs, gestures in a “go-on” motion, and Bad beams. “Pleased to meet you two,” he exercises a curt bow, “I am Badboyhalo, servant of hell, demon No.14 of the underworld at your service.”

George drops his muffin on the counter. “Wait, whut?”

Dream feels equally perplexed. “Wait… you’re not human?”

“Nope!” Bad confirms, carelessly biting into a pastry, his words coming out a bit muffled between bites. “I just like living in the overworld because it’s better up here. You know, since humans came up with computers and video games and muffins… it’s just more fun to hang out up here.”

Bad _looks_ human. Harmless spectacles, black hoodie, an innocent expression of bliss as he chews on his baked goods. If it weren’t for the ominous phone call that had drawn them here in the first place, Dream thinks he may not have believed him.

“Does your housemate know?” George asks curiously, to which Bad shakes his head.

“Skeppy isn’t aware of anything,” he answers freely. “I’ve never told him.”

“Are you…” Dream swallows nervously, “Were you supposed to reap George’s soul, or something?”

“What?” At that, Bad frantically waves his hands. “Goodness, no! It’s the complete opposite, actually. And, well, also because reaping is the reaper’s job. I’m just a demon — controlling death isn’t really in my field.”

“Okay…? Then what _do_ you know?”

“The reason for George’s incidents,” Bad answers, and just those words are enough to send an exhilarated chill down Dream’s spine. _Answers. He was finally going to get them._

“...well?”

“I’m not sure how to put this,” Bad admits. “It’s a bit…”

“Just say it,” George pushes, looking curious as well. “You don’t have to word it gently, or whatever. Just say it straight up.”

“Well,” Bad tilts his head, says, “To put it simply, George, the reason is because you’re supposed to be dead.”

An awkward silence filters between them. “What do you _mean_ ,” Dream echoes, “He’s _supposed_ to be dead?”

“When he was born,” Bad continues seriously, “the Fates cut the wrong string. He was supposed to die a baby, but because of their mistake, George was allowed to live.”

“The wrong string,” George repeats, looking oddly shocked, and Bad gives a knowing nod.

“I know,” he says sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Dream wonders aloud, looking to George for answers. “For… what?”

George’s hands are clenched. “My… my mum,” he mumbles. “She died when I was born.”

_“It̛’͡s ̡oka̡y t̸o͜ ҉cr͜y̶, u͟m҉,̸ ̧yoư ̴don̨’͝t̴ ̛n͟eed t̡o͠ ͡feel ęmba͘rras͏s̵ed̶ ̵by͟ ͏i̷t.̨ Cr͜ying̷ ͞is̴ g͏o̧od. I ͢cry̷ som͜et͝im͝es t̢oo, when I n̛eed t̷o.͘”_  
  
_͟“Ręa̵lly͠?”͟_  
  
_“̶Y-͝y̢ea͢h?͘”̸_  
  
_“Wha̷t͟ ̨do y͢ou̢…̧” ͏Dre͢am͡ ͏gul̵ps͟,̕ ͟w͟i̸ping̸ ̛h҉is͠ ͘chee͏ks dr̕y͘, ̡“wh͟at̶ d͡o̴ ̨y̕o͟u ̡cry̶ about?”_

“Your wallet,” Dream suddenly realizes. “Don’t tell me the important thing is…?”

“A picture? Yeah, it is.” George gives a dry laugh, mutters, “Oh my god. I can’t believe it was supposed to be me. My mum died because of me?”

Dream starts to extend a hand but stops short next to George’s shoulder, unsure if he should place it. “George…”

“It’s not your fault,” Bad reassures. “It was just an honest mistake by someone else, so you really shouldn’t blame yourself.”

Strangely enough, the words feel directed at him. _George’s deaths weren’t his fault_ , Dream realizes in shocked surprise. _Having a relationship with him had nothing to do with it._

“But,” Dream frowns, “That doesn’t make any sense. If someone was already sacrificed in George’s place, it still doesn’t explain why he needs to die?”

“He wasn’t supposed to stay alive _forever_ ,” Bad explains. “The mistake might have prolonged his lifespan, but it was still just a delay. Sooner or later, the Fates would realize their mistake and attempt to correct it.”

Dream feels himself pale. “So, all those accidents, those near-death moments were actually…”

“It was the universe targeting George,” Bad confirms, “To kill him.”

George blinks owlishly at Bad’s admittance, and Dream lets out a shaky breath. That made so much more sense, explained George’s knack for attracting trouble, explained his tendency of falling into every grave like he was magneted to it. Dream had been right after all — the world _was_ trying to kill George.

“But you said,” Dream recalls, “That it’s over now?”

“Correct,” Bad affirms, back to popping bits of blueberry muffin into his mouth. “I sent in a request to review your situation — it took about a week even _with_ priority certification, since the line for speaking to the big boss is really muffiny long you know — and when I showed them the details, they fixed up the situation per my request and, well, whaddya know? George doesn’t need to die now.”

Dream’s mouth falls wide open, and he involuntarily stands up from his chair. “You mean it? He’s safe now?”

“Well,” Bad huffs, “He can still _die_ , don’t get me wrong. He’s not immortal or anything but, in the _very least_ , I’ve gotten the fate tied to him removed. So yeah… he’s safe.”

Dream feels his insides simmering away with relief as he collapses back into his chair. “Thank _god_ ,” he mutters, dragging his hands down his face. “ _Thank GOD._ Holy fucking shit. Oh my god.”

“It’s over now,” George repeats, staring wide-eyed at Dream, a sort of stunned expression on his face.

“ _Thank you_ , Bad,” Dream breathes, “Seriously, thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Bad smiles. “You should give yourself some credit too, Dream. You were a _huge_ help. Without you, my request never would have made it in on time.”

“My… help?”

“After you rescued George that first time from the construction,” Bad nods, “I tried to warn you with your ringtone whenever the Fates were close to cutting his string.”

Dream blinks in mild surprise, his brows furrowing from Bad’s explanation. “So it _wasn’t_ just a coincidence.”

“It took a week for my request to register,” Bad explains further. “And it’s because you protected George all this time, Dream, that I got to have an audience with the boss and managed to alter his destiny.”

“But… why _me?_ Why did you choose me to save George?” Dream whispers, suddenly dampened with confusion. “Why _us?_ Bad, why… why are you helping us?”

“As much as I would’ve loved to help of my own free will,” Bad shrugs, “I can’t really take credit for the things listed in our contract.”

George’s eyebrows fly up. “Your _what?_ ”

“And _I_ didn’t pick you,” Bad corrects, “You picked yourself.”

“Bad,” Dream repeats for George, equally as puzzled, “ _What_ contract?”

“It’s just a contract,” Bad explains very unhelpfully. “A contract between us. It’s what I had to present to the big boss, to get him to understand your guys’ predicament.”

Dream is still confused. “But we’ve never made a contract?”

“Oh, _we_ might not have,” Bad grins mischievously, “But another you — your past self, so to speak — did.”

Dream’s past self? As in, a different time loop? But… “That doesn’t make any _sense_ ,” Dream argues, struggling to understand. “Even if it was my past self, wouldn’t I know about it?”

“Not if it was in your past _life_ ,” Bad whistles.

“I…” Dream lets out a strangled breath, unable to believe his ears, “I made a contract with you in my _past_ _life?_ ” At Bad’s nod, Dream continues pensively, “Well? What was the contract about?” Surely there was some sort of catch, some sort of sacrifice he had made in order to gain a _demon’s_ favors. Stuff like this didn’t just come for free.

Bad only smiles apologetically. “That is for me to know, and for you to, um, ideally not find out. Since it’d break the contract’s terms if you did.”

“...oh.”

“Was I in the same world as him?” George asks out of the blue, “Was his contract about us? Was—”

“ _George!_ ” Bad cuts him off, looking indignant. “I _said_ , I _can’t_ disclose anything!”

“Well, I’m not Dream am I? That means you can tell me.”

Bad’s eyebrow twitches. “Well… that’s _true_ …”

“So…!”

“ _But_ ,” Bad inserts, looking a tad miffed, “you could accidentally tell Dream, and that’d still be a violation, so _no_ George. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you about it either.”

George huffs and crosses his arms, but doesn’t push the subject further. A bubble of fondness grows in Dream’s chest, a tingling hope that he can now reach without stepping too far, can want without toppling into a pitch-black hole.

“Cute,” Dream mumbles, and George’s ears turn red.

“Okay,” Bad rolls his eyes, but he looks less annoyed now. “Do you guys have any other questions? I _think_ we’re about finished discussing everything...”

Dream considers bringing it up, the question of _What about the time loops?_ itching from the back of his head. Something about what the demon said earlier had ticked Dream off, had made him wonder if Bad really was as involved as he claimed to be. 

But… what did it matter? If what Bad said was true, and if George really was safe now, then the answer wouldn’t matter. “One last check,” Dream whispers instead, “It’s over? For sure?”

“It’s over, for sure,” Bad repeats after him seriously, and Dream beams.

“Our contract may have been the reason you helped us, but still…” Dream breathes, “thank you. Seriously, thank you again, Bad. Thank you so much.”

“Th-thank you,” George parrots, albeit more quietly, but the gratitude is nonetheless there.

The demon only nods, his small fangs showing as he smiles back. “You two are very welcome.”

* * *

“So what now?” George asks the instant they step off Bad’s driveway. “What changes?”

“ _George,_ ” Dream snickers, reminded of their discussion in the parking garage, “Are you doing that on purpose?”

George gives an innocent grin and shrugs. “I dunno what you mean, I’m just asking a question.”

Dream playfully flicks his shoulder. “Psh, you shouldn’t do that — what if you give me PTSD?”

George visibly pauses. “Oh,” he echoes. “Um, sorry, I didn’t think about that…”

Dream chuckles. “I’m just joking with you,” he says, “I’m totally fine.” And for once, it doesn’t feel like a lie. In fact, Dream feels lighter than ever, the anvils gone from his being. No more watching George die, no more living out repetitive time loops, no more waiting for the next calamity to befall them. It was finally all over. “Why don’t _you_ answer the question, Georgie?”

“ _Ew_ ,” George makes a disgusted face, “What the hell is _that_.”

And Dream laughs, feels the inside of his chest explode with bright fireflies. Usually the déjà vu would bother him, but now it doesn’t. “Answer the question, George!”

“I— I dunno, I asked you _first_ …”

Dream cuts him off mid-sentence. In one swift motion, he’s wrapped his arm around George’s waist and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “There’s my answer,” Dream quips, loving the way George’s cheeks have bursted into a bright pink. Fuck, he missed this so, _so_ much. “What do you think?”

“U-uhm…” George giggles, a dumb grin on his face. “I like it… this change. It’s good.”

Dream brings his face lower so that the sides of their noses are pressing against each other. “Just this?” he teases, interlocking their fingers. “You sure you don’t want anything more?”

George’s eyelashes flutter. “Well, there’s one thing…”

Dream feels the words on the back of his tongue. They might as well come full circle, right? He threads his fingers through the hairs on George’s nape, whispers, “Whatever is it that you desire, Georgie~?”

“I desire you to stop calling me that.”

Dream’s smile is so wide that it’s starting to hurt his face. “Sorry, no can do.”

George’s breath brushes against Dream’s lips as he continues, “...what if I desire you to kiss me?”

Upon hearing his request, Dream can only grin. “That, I can follow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶f̶u̶*̶*̶e̶d̶,̶ ̶c̶O̶u̶g̶h̶ (am I allowed to say that ahahhahaha)  
> And then they lived happily ever after and nothing bad happened afterwards... right?
> 
> Anyway... I just wanted to thank you all so much for your theories and interest in this series!! I had such a blast watching you guys pick up on my clues and stick them together, it felt very satisfying to me as an author to see you guys pick apart my story's every detail :D This series loves u very much 💕
> 
> Even if you weren't a theorizer, I appreciate your presence all the same, so thank you for reading and leaving your words of encouragement, I loved all of them so so much u//u
> 
> btw Bad's appearance is a small reference to my fic "You Can't Love Me Back." They're not canonically-related, but it's just me wanting to add a little snippet of my old stories youknowwhatimmean uwu
> 
> If you're bored and have nothing else to do, come check out the [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLm6VFLVw5zmwRjZkFC7_a7ROSKaWErTSV) I made for this series! Each song matches a chapter title :D
> 
> Thank you all again, and maybe see you soon...? *mischievous giggling*

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me at [tumblr](https://peppdream.tumblr.com/)~


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